Portrait of the Hunter
by sunbune
Summary: An indepth look at how D grew up, ventured into the world, and became a vampire hunter. Some crossover with the book Dracula by Bram Stoker.
1. Visitors

_A Portrait of the Hunter as a Young Dhampir_

Author's note: groan! The inclusion of an "author's note" means there's no turning back now… maybe I've finally lost it… As you can see, this is quite a project, one that I'm extremely fond (and a little ashamed) of. I've been calling it my "little D story" since the beginning (2 years ago), but it needed a better title. I utterly _despise_ James Joyce and especially _A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man,_ but I have to admit that this story is loosely parallel to it, so I think I'll stick with the parody of the title.

Okay… let me try to explain myself. This is a VHD crossover with the original book _Dracula_ by Bram Stoker, and also with 20th century history. The beginning of this story occurs at the same time as _Dracula_. At the beginning of that book (in case you haven't read it), an Englishman named Jonathan Harker travels to Transylvania to do business with Count Dracula. That's the visitor that D is talking about in this first chapter…

* * *

Chapter 1: Visitors

Transylvania, 1896

D pounded on the huge wooden door with his fist. He was out of breath from running up the stairs, and his expression was dark and troubled.

"what, what?" his father said crossly, opening the door. "what's the matter with you? Speak up."

D huffed for breath and then gritted his teeth. "There's a man here," he said. "He's got a suitcase and everything. What's he doing here?"

"Yes, that's the guest I was telling you about. He arrived last night. You're not to bother him, do you understand? You must keep out of sight at all times, that's all I ask."

"Yes sir," D mumbled, but his face revealed that he wasn't satisfied. His father smiled thinly.

"Go on, tell me what's on your mind."

The little boy looked up at his father, looking worried and suspicious. "It's just that… well, what are you going to do with him?"

"That, my son, is none of your concern. You needn't worry about it. It's purely for business- I'll explain it to you once everything is in place." D glanced behind his father at the pile of gold on the floor. His dark eyes widened in surprise.

"All that money," he said curiously. "What's it for?"

Dracula sighed impatiently. "Business transactions, that's all. Uninteresting business. Why don't you get back to your studies?"

"I don't want to. And anyway, I can't concentrate with that stranger in the house."

"Well you had better redouble your efforts. That man will be staying here for a while and there's nothing you can do about it. You're forbidden from talking to him, do you understand?"

The boy nodded disappointedly, turned, and walked back down the stone stairs. Dracula cast a hesitant look after him, as if debating whether to say anything more, and then turned and shut the door to his office. Upon hearing the sound, D's face brightened a little, and he hurried away.

* * *

The door to the "guest's" bedroom was locked. D slipped his pale hand into the pocket of his trousers and pulled out a small golden key. It clicked in the keyhole and the handle turned beneath D's palm. With a grimace of determination, D stole silently into the room. Although the room was dim, it was a great deal brighter than the light D was used to in the castle, and so he blinked a bit as he looked around. The man was sleeping in the ornate bed, and D crept closer in fascination. Soon he was standing right beside the bed, examining the oblivious human. D felt strangely compelled to touch the sleeping face, as if to make certain that it was real and not an illusion. His fear of waking the man restrained him, and with a small nervous swallow, he turned around to inspect the rest of the room. 

The first thing he found was the man's shaving kit, and the treasure it included: a small mirror. D smiled as he saw the reflection of the room around him, and then he picked it up, and tilted it towards himself… and dropped it with a sharp gasp. He caught it again before it hit the floor, but his heart was racing. He wasn't sure of what he had seen. He quickly looked over his shoulder, confirming that he was alone in the room with the sleeping foreigner. Then, gathering his courage, he raised the mirror before his face. Wondrously, he saw his own reflection in the glass.

The face he saw was pale, smooth, with the same chin and sharp nose as his father. D could see his father in his overall countenance, but not in his eyes. D's eyes were his own- wide, childlike, with sweeping dark lashes, and narrow brows. And they were blue, blue like his mother's eyes had been, not devilish red. D's curly brown hair was tied with a black ribbon at the nape of his neck. The soft brown hair and blue eyes did not belong to a vampire_. "I don't look any different from the children in the village,"_ he thought to himself. He glanced back at the sleeping man, who also had brown hair. _"I could be that man's son!_" Pleased with his appearance, D grinned, then immediately scowled as the mirror revealed his sharp teeth. When he scowled he looked more like his father again, stern and harsh.

"Hello there," a voice said behind him. D gasped and spun around, clutching the mirror to his chest. His eyes widened with horror. The man was awake! D took a step backward. "I see you found my mirror," the man said, sitting up in the great bed. D gulped and hurriedly replaced the mirror with the shaving kit on the table. Then he turned and fled from the room, already wincing in anticipation of his father's wrath.

D spent the rest of the day in hiding, but the castle was quiet. At last he crept out. The commonly used parts of the castle were deserted, but there was a light on in one of the libraries in the abandoned section where the guest was staying. D peered through the crack in the door and saw the strange man sitting in an ancient cushioned chair, writing. He was scribbling furiously at his paper and seemed to be deep in thought. D decided to leave him to his work.

* * *

D went to his own chambers and fetched a broad-brimmed hat and a cloak. Although it the sun was well behind the mountains, the afternoon light was still too bright for D. Stealing into the kitchen, D went through a door into the cellar, and trotted off down a narrow, musty corridor. After several turns and short flights of stairs, D came to a door that seemed to be set in the ceiling. Heaving it open, he could see the sky. D stepped into the daytime of the outside world. He took a deep breath of the fresh mountain air, and began to walk. It was a journey of several miles to the cabin, but the walk gave him time to think. This business of his father's… he wondered what it was, and he distrusted it. A human visitor to the castle was a rare thing indeed. The last time that had happened was when D's mother had died. His father had been kind enough to let her human family come and take her body. D had been furious at the time. There were lots of dead people still 'alive' at the castle, how come mother couldn't stay? His father had gripped his hand tightly and said, "if a creature such as you can cry, you ought to do it now." D had wept bitterly, hating both his parents. But that was years ago, and D felt much more intelligent and mature than he had on that sad day. He was a young scholar now, and his father's vast collection of books kept him busy day after day. He had finished one complete library and was now working on the second, but there were still half a dozen to go after that. 

At last the cottage came into view. D sighed with relief. It was always so comforting to see that little cottage, with smoke drifting from the chimney and the old dog sleeping in the sun. As D approached, the dog stirred. It lifted its shaggy head and whined, then wagged its tail. It pulled itself up on it stiff legs as D got nearer, and hobbled over to sniff D's hand. "Hello," D said softly, smiling as the dog licked his hand sloppily. Then the dog barked, waving its tail. The cottage door opened a minute later and Mrs. Belus appeared. Her face brightened as she saw D standing in the yard.

"Why, look who it is! God bless you, little D! Come here, lad! It's been ages since we've seen you!" D ran forward into her open arms and she gave him a big hug, nearly scooping him off the ground. As she set him down she called for her daughter. "Tasia! Come see who it is!"

"Has it been that long, Mrs. Belus?" D asked politely. It didn't seem that long to him, but he was conscious of the way that time seemed to pass while he was confined to the castle. There was a patter of footsteps, and Tasia appeared in a doorway. D kept his lips pressed together but he couldn't hold back his smile. "Tasia!" he said, beaming. Tasia ran to him and took both his hands.

Tasia was a pretty little girl slightly taller than D, with large light brown eyes and bright rosy cheeks. Her hair was curly and the color of dark gold, and there were green ribbons in it. She was wearing a white blouse and a colorful little country dress of green and brown and red. "D! I've missed you so much! I was worried that I'd never see you again. But here you are! I'm so glad to see you!"

"Me too," D said, conscious of the warmth of her tan little hands on his.

"Are you hungry, dear?" Mrs. Belus asked.

In fact, D was hungry, so he had dinner with Mrs. Belus and her daughter. D had been friends with them for six years. Mr. Belus had disappeared when Tasia was a little baby, and Mrs. Belus never said much about him, except that he had gone to explore 'that abandoned castle' and had never returned. D had a pretty good idea what had happened to that unfortunate man, but he didn't say anything. To show his sympathy, D snuck them little treasures that he knew his father wouldn't miss. Of course Mrs. Belus knew that D lived in the castle, but D didn't like to talk about it, so she didn't press him for information. Tasia didn't care where D came from. He was her only friend, for no other people lived out in the forest so close to the castle. Once she had asked him about his pointy ears, and he was ashamed, but she had laughed and assured him that it was all right if he had pointy ears, "as long as they don't get furry like a rabbit's!"

After dinner, Mrs. Belus bustled off to the kitchen, and Tasia smiled at D and whispered, "it's my birthday today! Momma made a cake as a surprise, but I found it in the pantry this morning! Still, we have to act surprised, ok?" D nodded, awed that he should be included in such a ceremony as a birthday party. Sure enough, Mrs. Belus came back with a small cake, and Tasia let out a shriek of delight and burst from her chair to give her mother a hug. "A birthday cake! Oh, thank you momma! This is the best birthday ever!"

"My little Tasia turns 10 today," Mrs. Belus informed D as she set down the cake.

"How old are you, D?" Tasia asked curiously. When they had met, D had told her he was 6, because that's how old his father said that he looked, compared to human children. D faltered. "I'm 10 too," he told her.

"Now, that can't be right," Mrs. Belus said kindly. "You must be about 12 by now. Although, poor dear, you are a little small for your age. And still so pale! Are you sure you get enough to eat at home, dear?"

"Oh, yes, I do," D said, his mind racing. Tasia had been much smaller than he when they had met, and now she was an inch or two taller. "The doctor says I'm sickly, so I don't go out very much." It seemed a safe answer, based on the books he had read about humans and their customs. Mrs. Belus nodded and frowned.

"Well, what do you say we eat some cake?"

After the cake was gone, D felt sleepy, and Mrs. Belus invited him to stay the night, as she always did when D came to visit. Quite honestly, D always replied that he would be missed at home if he were out all night. But that night, D felt especially reluctant to leave. Noticing a large old book on a shelf, D asked about it. "That's our new Bible," Tasia told him with an air of importance. "It's very heavy. Would you like to hold it? Momma, would that be okay?"

"Yes dear, just be careful with it." Tasia pushed a chair over and began to pull the book off the shelf. In the process, however, she lost her balance, and came toppling down. D was there to catch her, and she felt surprisingly light in his arms.

"Thanks, D," she said, and he put her down. She handed him the sacred book, which had an ornate, gilded cover. "Isn't it beautiful?" she asked breathlessly, tracing one of the golden letters with her finger.

"Yes," D said. "I've never read this book before. Do you mind if I look at it?"

"You can read?" Tasia asked excitedly.

"Of course," D said, surprised by the question. "Can't you?" She shook her head, her eyes wide.

"Momma can't either."

D solemnly flipped through the pages. How strange, to be unable to read! D flipped to the back of the book. "Shall I read something to you?" he asked.

"Oh, yes please!" she exclaimed. "Momma, come in here! D's going to read for us!" she sat down on the floor, arranging her skirt over her knees. D sat down next to her and Mrs. Belus came into the room, sitting down on the chair, and D began to read.


	2. Gifts

A/N: hi, it's me again. In case you're wondering, "Tasia" is pronounced _Tah-see-ah._ (at least in my opinion) I wrote the later part of the next chapter with _Dracula_ open on the desk next to me. All the action and dialogue in that scene is copied straight from Bram Stoker. The only difference is that in my story, D is present in the room. Hopefully it's not plagiarism since I'm telling you it's not mine…

* * *

Chapter 2: Gifts

Much later that night, D awoke to the sound of a wolf howling. He stared up at a strange ceiling, and realized where he was: The Belus' cottage! He was lying on a rug on the floor, wrapped in a blanket. There was a sweet-smelling bundle of cloth rolled up for his pillow. He must have drifted off to sleep while reading to them! The fire in the hearth was low, the logs glowing orange. Tasia was sleeping on her little bed across the room. D stood up, and looked around for his cloak and his hat, which happened to be hanging from a peg on the wall by Tasia's bed. D silently walked over to it, and Tasia opened her eyes, looking at him. "Are you leaving?" she whispered. D sighed.

"I have to go, I can't stay here," he said softly. "But I promise I'll come back soon." He pulled down his hat and set it on his head.

"Liar," Tasia teased with a smile. She shivered and pulled her blankets closer to her chin. "You said that last time. I probably won't see you until my eleventh birthday!"

"Soon," D repeated. "I'll come back soon. Please tell your mother that I'm thankful for dinner and everything." He turned to go.

"Wait!" Tasia said, sitting up. "A birthday present," she said suddenly. "Won't you give me a birthday present before you go?"

"I'll give you anything you wish for," D said with a smile. He bowed low, sweeping off his hat elegantly. "What do you want?"

She repressed a giggle. "A kiss," she whispered, her eyes dancing with the light of the fire. She started to giggle again and she held a blanket-wrapped fist up to her mouth.

D was frozen. "A what?" he asked, his horror rising. "I don't…"

"shh! Come on D!" she swung her legs out of bed and came hurrying across the cold floor to stand in front of him. She took his hands in hers again, smiling brightly. D hung his head, fearful and betrayed. "All right.. I'll just give one to you instead!" D jumped at this, and raised his head to protest, but at that same instant the girl had closed her eyes and was leaning down to plant a little kiss on D's forehead. This combination of actions led to their lips brushing against each other, and Tasia's eyes flew open in delight. D stared at her in wonder. "See," she said, trying not to giggle again. "Now promise you'll come back soon!"

"I promise," D said, bewildered, and Tasia squeezed his hands a little before she let them go.

"Goodnight," the girl whispered, moving backwards towards her bed.

"Goodnight," D replied, and quickly slipped out the door. He took off into the forest at a run, his mind whirling. It was a dark night, but he could see perfectly. Why had Tasia done that? Was that really a human kiss? D didn't understand, but he wanted to get himself away from her, and at the same time he never wanted to let her out of his sight again. It was a frightening and wonderful experience, and D felt suddenly very grown up and important, full of hope and excitement for the days ahead.

The leaves crunched under his flying feet, and before long a wolf came and trotted easily beside him. D glanced at it coldly. "Get out of here," he commanded. "Leave me alone!" The wolf growled and seemed to challenge him. Soon another wolf came bounding out of the shadows, and followed along on D's other side. D gritted his teeth, angry at the beasts, the servants of his father. A third wolf appeared, and chased him from behind, and D could sense that the three were conversing in their strange animal way, taunting him somehow. "Go away," D warned, feeling his anger swell. "I said to leave me alone!" the wolves laughed silently at this command, and D went blind with rage. He skidded to a halt and turned on the wolves, who were but three blurs in his red-clouded vision. He felt a torrent of cold energy rush out of him, some kind of hideous dark power, and with a yelp each wolf collapsed to the ground. D came to his senses, dizzy, and he immediately sensed that the wolves were dead. He could smell the blood from their gaping jaws, and it sickened him. He choked and vomited, falling to his knees in the dirt. He staggered to his feet, stumbled a few steps, and collapsed unconscious.

* * *

His father hurried through the forest the next morning in a dark hat and cloak, his red eyes squinted against the daylight. He was uncomfortable being outside in the light, but concern for his son drove him on. Suddenly he spotted the small, black-clad body, and something like fear tore through his cold heart. The tall, thin man gathered his son into his arms, and sighed with relief that the boy was quite clearly alive. He noted the three dead wolves with a frown, and then quickly turned towards home.

* * *

D opened his eyes as a glass of water was held to his lips. He coughed and drank, and then looked around, meeting his father's cold, ruby-eyed gaze. D looked down, guiltily examining the blankets. "Are you well?" his father asked quietly. "I was very worried about you."

A tear slid down D's cheek. "I'm sorry," he said.

"It's not your fault," Dracula said comfortingly. He hated the sight of his son's tears. "Three of my wolves died protecting you," he said, giving the glass of water to D. "You can't blame them for attacking you though… they know who you are."

D was confused. "What happened?" he asked, figuring it was a safe question.

"I didn't really examine the wolves," Dracula said, "but it seems to me that some hunters must have attacked you as you walked in the woods last night. They must have beaten you so badly that they were convinced you were dead, although it is a mystery to me why they didn't make sure by cutting off your head. Perhaps the wolves scared them off, even though they managed to kill three of them." Dracula sighed. "of course you had healed yourself by the time I found you, but it must have been a horrible experience." He patted D's shoulder, and his expression turned hateful. "I will teach them a lesson for hurting you," he said viciously. D gulped and set the water aside, clutching his father's cold hand.

"No, father, don't," he pleaded weakly. "The… the hunters are only afraid of us. It was a natural thing for them to do."

"Natural?" his father sneered. "_Naturally_, the humans should bow to us as their masters. Yet I have been too lenient. They have forgotten their place, and now the peasants see their kings as some kind of diseased animal. They hunt us like animals. They refuse to submit! D… they must be punished. It's the only way to restore the natural hierarchy of the species."

It scared D to hear his father rationalize in such a cold, childish way. "What about Mother?" he cried out meekly. Dracula appeared frozen for a moment, staring off into space. Then he collected himself and turned his crimson gaze on his son.

"She was… a great distraction to me," the vampire king said calmly. "When I was with her, I was able to forget… the way that things are. I allowed my sovereignty to decline. But look at me, D- I have kept my word to her thus far! I have not tasted human blood since I met her."

D looked at his father's white hair, his aged skin, and the weariness behind his blood-colored eyes. But D felt no sense of respect for the long abstinence of his father, for he knew the bloody centuries of history that preceded it. He felt a sudden revulsion. How dare this murdering monster pretend to have some claim to righteousness, in the name of D's precious mother? D felt himself quiver with anger and grief.

"It was a dream, my son," Dracula said quietly, staring off into the darkness again. "Like all human life, it was but a brief, sweet dream, and now it is over. I am the king of the vampires, and humans mean nothing. Your mother is dead, but _I_ am not, and _you_ are not, and we shall never die. The choices open to us are to rot forever in misery or to take our rightful place in the world, as kings."

"I'd rather rot, and I wish you would too!" D exclaimed furiously.

Dracula stood up suddenly. "You've had a terrible experience; I'm sure you'll need some time to rest and recover." Calmly he left the room, ignoring his son's ranting.

"I don't need to rest! I wasn't beaten by any hunters- I killed your stupid wolves myself! I killed them myself!"

Dracula closed the door, effectively blocking out his son's voice. Inhaling deeply, the old vampire raised a hand to his forehead. His hand shook with emotion, but his face was expressionless. After a moment's pause, he hurried down the dark hallway.

* * *

Several days passed uneventfully, and D took refuge in his father's library, reading by the light of a lamp, although he didn't need it. He thought of returning to the Belus' house, but he feared that the wolves might take their revenge on him for killing three of their brethren. He still wasn't sure how he done that, and the memory of it scared him. D was curled up on a couch reading when he heard laughter in an adjacent room. Putting down his book, he went to investigate.

As he stuck his head through the doorway, a girl gave a shriek. "Is it HIM?" she nearly screamed. The other two girls in the room began to giggle. The excited one collected herself, realizing her mistake. "No, it's just that half-breed runt."

"Slut," D returned under his breath, knowing that the girl had heard him. The girl cocked an eyebrow at D and rose to her feet, her skirts rustling. She glided gracefully towards D and then suddenly snatched up his jaw in her cruel, cold hand. D felt himself choking in her grip.

"Now, is that any kind of name to call your adoring sister? I think not." She shoved D backwards and he bounced off the wall, gasping. The girl laughed haughtily.

"Such a naughty word from such a young little mouth! That human bitch spoiled you so," the second girl said.

"Still, he's quite a handsome little brat," the third girl said, coming over to pat D's head. "There there, dear little brother. It's not your fault that you were an accident and a miserable failure. Father's getting a bit senile in his old age- it's perfectly understandable.

"Who are you?" D asked, looking at the third girl suspiciously. The first two he knew well- they were Carina and Sabina, D's half-sisters. The third, however, was much prettier than his sisters, and bore no resemblance to his father. She had bright blue eyes and pale golden hair, curly and beautiful. She looked very human, except for the thirsty gleam in her eyes and the cruel smile of her pointed teeth.

"I belong to your father," she said with false sweetness. "I was here before he ever met your miserable mother. When she came along, he forgot about me for a while, so I've been asleep… but now I'm quite awake, and I'm quite happy to be back. My name is Aloisia."

"Oh!" Carina exclaimed. "He's falling asleep! How perfect!" The other two closed their eyes and sighed.

"Yes, you're right!" Aloisia said excitedly, clapping her hands. "Let's hurry!"

"Wait, who are you talking about?" D asked, confused.

Sabina looked at him in disgust. "Can't you sense it? No, I suppose not. There's a human man here, a fully living one!"

D's eyes widened in fear. "He's here on business, Father's business! You mustn't disturb him."

"Annoying brat! Stupid little boy! A human man, here on business? What sort of business do you suppose it is that he is here for? Father isn't here right now, and the three of us have been utterly neglected lately. We're going to have a bit of fun."

"No!" D cried, but it was too late… the three of them had already slipped through the wall. D could faintly hear their ethereal laughter through the walls. Gritting his teeth, he raced out the door in pursuit. He had to take the long way through the castle, being unable to float through walls like his sisters. Following the sound of their excited, twittering voices, D arrived at the door of one of the small, unused rooms in the uninhabited portion of the castle. The door was ajar, and inside, D could see the three girls leaning over the sleeping body of the human man, giggling to each other and whispering all sorts of evil and mischievous things. D bit his lip, but he didn't know what to do. If he tried to restrain his sisters, the man would surely awaken, and see them all. D didn't know what his father would do to them if he knew that they had broken his command, or what would happen to the poor human, who would probably pay for his knowledge with his life. Suddenly D sensed that his father had returned. He dashed down the stairs, almost colliding with his father at the bottom. Dracula had a large heavy bag slung over one shoulder, but D barely noticed it.

"My sisters-" D said. "they've found the man!" Dracula's eyes flashed angrily and he vanished immediately, taking the heavy sack with him. D rolled his eyes, briefly annoyed at his lack of such an ability, and began to run back up the stairs. By the time he reached the little room again, the danger had passed. The human still slept. Sabina and Carina had savage and smug expressions on their faces, but Aloisia looked wild and desperate, fearless in her impudence.

"How dare you touch him, any of you?" Dracula whispered harshly. "How dare you cast eyes on him when I had forbidden it? Back, I tell you all! This man belongs to me!" Aloisia tossed her head and laughed spitefully.

"You yourself never loved; you never love!" she accused, and laughed at him again. Sabina and Carina laughed with her, sneering, mocking their father. It that moment D almost felt sorry for his father, crouched protectively over the human, an old, sad creature. Aloisia didn't dare to say the name of D's mother, but D was fully aware of what she was inferring, and he caught the distant look in his father's angry eyes. The vampire king decided not to react to the mockery of the three women, but instead turned back to the human, making sure that he was still asleep. What he said in reply to Aloisia's accusation was a low mutter, but D heard him command the three of them to leave.

"Are we to have nothing tonight?" Carina said, with another little laugh. She pointed at the forgotten bag on the floor. D noticed that something inside it was moving, and his heart leapt with fury and pity. His father nodded, and Carina pounced on the bag, with Sabina and Aloisia close behind her. D knew there was a human child in the bag, and that its life would soon be sucked out of its veins. He thought briefly of Tasia and clenched his fists. His father's head was bent, his eyes closed, as if feigning regret for the child's fate. The child made a pathetic attempt to cry out through the gag in its mouth, and then the three sisters disappeared, taking the child with them. D swallowed, unable to bear the thought of what was happening to the child at the hands of his cruel sisters and the beautiful, dreadful Aloisia. Dracula sighed and lifted the man gently from where he rested on the couch.

"What are you going to do with him?" D asked quietly.

"I'm taking him back to his room," Dracula replied. "Those impossible sisters of yours… thank you for alerting me, D. I was almost too late."

"Why did you bring them a child?" D asked, his voice trembling.

Dracula stiffened, and looked his son square in the eye. "They are thirsty, as am I. It has been a long time."

D leaned back against the cold wall, gripping the stones with his fingernails. His father walked past him, carrying the limp body of the foreigner. D squeezed his eyes shut as a high-pitched wail echoed through the dark castle from somewhere far below. D cracked his eyes open, glaring at the dark blur of his father's retreating form. "I hate you," D whispered. "I hate you…I hate you… I hate you!" It was a relief to finally utter the words that had been nesting in his heart for so long, but there was also a terrible ripping feeling, as if the kind and gentle spirit of his mother was being torn out of him, and a tide of evil darkness was surging in to fill the hole it created. It was that same terrible feeling of power that he had felt when he killed the wolves that night, and D was afraid of himself.


	3. Proof and Justice

Chapter 3: Proof and Justice

Transylvania, 1902

Several years later, after the dreadful incident with Harker and that Helsing person was over and Dracula was still regaining his strength, one of D's regular visits to Tasia and Mrs. Belus went horribly wrong. D had finally hit a bit of a growth spurt, so he was just as tall as Tasia even though his face looked much younger. Anyone who saw him would have placed his age at 12, while Tasia was a beautiful 16 years old and looked quite mature for her age. She had never asked D for another kiss, and the two had become even closer friends. D visited her once every two or three months, bringing books for them to read together and usually a small treasure for her mother. But one day things were not the same. The old dog had died long ago, and the new dog was nowhere to be seen as D approached the friendly little cottage. He liked to imagine that the cottage was his real home. The thought always made him smile. That day, however, D frowned. Something was wrong. Cautiously he knocked on the door, but there was no answer. D waited a moment, listening, but there was no sound.

Inside, where D couldn't see her, Tasia struggled to free her mouth from the strong hand clamped over it. She had seen D approaching the cottage, but before she could get to a window to signal him, the man had grabbed her. She heard the doorknob turn under D's hand, and finally managed to catch the skin of her captor's palm between her teeth. She bit down hard. The door creaked as it opened. The man released Tasia's mouth with a curse, and she screamed. "Run, D!"

It was too late. Three men tackled the boy as he stepped into the house, bringing him to the floor. He fought, and tossed them aside, but another man threw a chain around D's neck, and tightened the loop. D could tell immediately that the chain was forged of silver. He was yanked backwards into the room, landing flat on his back. D gasped, trying to get air back into his lungs. He brought a hand up to pull at the chain, but one of the men planted a boot on his chest, and rested the tip of a very sharp stake above D's heart. D froze, and then slowly lowered his hands until they rested at his sides. He closed his eyes and tried to relax. There were five armed men in the cottage; D was completely surrounded. He could hear Mrs. Belus sobbing nearby.

"Don't hurt him, please, he's just a boy," she pleaded, her sobs muffled by her hands.

"This aint no boy, mum," one of the men said gruffly. "It's that damned vampire."

"He isn't!" Tasia exclaimed fiercely. "He's my best friend! I've known him my entire life! You're wrong!"

"He is out in the sunlight," one man muttered doubtfully.

"But see how pale he is! Vampires is always pale like that."

"He was a sickly child, the doctor kept him in!" Mrs. Belus wailed. "He's always had an unnatural color, but that's no ground to call him such a thing!"

"Look!" one man shouted, pointing to D's ear with his long knife. "He's got them demon ears, he must be it!" the other men muttered to themselves in consensus.

"He's had them since he were a baby," Mrs. Belus said quickly. "Ever since he first showed up on my doorstep, the poor dear! It's no fault of his that he were born with ears like that- what a silly thing to fuss over, when the Lord knows some people get born without arms or legs, or limbs all twisted and useless, which they must suffer with for the rest of their lives! Shame on you all!"

"You say he showed up at your doorstep, but where'd he come from?" a man asked.

"From that old castle, where he lives," Tasia supplied.

"That's the proof! He's the vampire, the very thing what's been hunting our children and women in the village!"

"No! He isn't! He reads to us, from the Holy Bible! No evil creature would do that!" D opened his eyes and looked up at Tasia, grateful that she was defending him. Her pretty face was red with crying, and down her cheeks were wet, shining stripes. Although her lip trembled, her eyes were strong and resolute. She looked down and met D's gaze. "don't you worry," she said to him. "This is some kind of horrible mistake!"

"Hey, his eyes aint red," spoke up the doubtful man from before.

"Red eyes in vampires is just a rumor, a story that might not be true," said the burly man who still had his boot firmly placed on D's chest. "Let's look at what we know for sure. The monster lives in the castle, we know that." The other men nodded. "We know he's got dark hair and pale skin and pointy ears, from the woman who saw him from the side that night when he stole her baby right from its cradle. So far this fellow here matches the description. We've heard a rumor that he can't abide sunlight or silver, which don't seem to hold true in this case. But there's one thing that'll make it all sure, one way or the other."

"Seeing if he eats food like a human?" one man suggested.

"He does! He eats very well, like a growing boy!" Mrs. Belus cried. "He eats bread and meat and vegetables!"

"Quiet," the burly man commanded. "That's not what I was thinking of. One thing I know about vampires, all vampires everywhere, is that they all got fangs, real sharp teeth, which they use to bite their prey in the throat. If this fellow aint got fangs, he aint a vampire. But if he do, I think it's obvious to us all what we must do."

At this the men nodded, and tightened their grip on their weapons. They all looked down at D. "Well, come on," the burly man said, looking D square in the eye. "Let's see yer teeth."

D felt like he wanted to cry. He was a young man now, not a child, so he was too old for tears, but the feeling was there in his throat anyway, and it burned at his eyes. He kept his mouth shut in a thin, expressionless line. The man holding the chain around his neck gave it a little jerk.

"Come on, let's see," the man said roughly.

Tasia smiled despite the tears still falling from her eyes. "Well! That will be the end of this foolishness!" she said confidently. "D doesn't have any nasty fangs. Show them, D, just let them see so they'll leave you alone!" D closed his eyes. He couldn't believe this was happening, not here, not in front of Tasia and Mrs. Belus.

Suddenly one of the men lost his patience, and stuck the end of his spear at the side of D's mouth, prying open his lips. Even this wasn't enough to reveal D's teeth to the satisfaction of the hunters, so the man holding the chain began to pull, and the burly man began to press down on D's chest with his boot. D closed his eyes, fighting, willing himself to hold his breath, but at last the chain was too tight, and the pressure on his chest too great. D's hands clutched at the chain, and his mouth opened wide like an animal's, gasping for air. "He's our vampire, all right!" the men shouted. D began to struggle violently, and the two women screamed.

"Drag him outside!" one man hollered, and D found himself being pulled down the front steps into the yard. Someone kicked him in the ribs on his way down, and he curled up in pain. The burly man wielding the stake came, towering over D. Now he held a large mallet in his other hand. D held up a hand as if to shield himself.

"No," he rasped. "please!"

"Silence, monster!" the man roared, his face livid. "You vile creature of darkness- you murderer of innocents! Today I will end your unholy existence, and send you back to the sewers of hell!" He placed the tip of the stake above D's heart, and D wrapped a hand around it, as if to lift it away.

"No, wait," he said feebly, the chain still tugging at his neck.

"How dare you beg for mercy?" the man asked, spitting on his victim. "Did my wife beg for mercy too, and for mercy on our child?" the man's hand was shaking as he raised the mallet to nail D to the earth.

At that moment, one of the hunters gave a cry of warning, and with a ferocious growl a giant wolf leapt into view, tackling the man with the mallet. Snarling, the wolf crushed the man's throat in its jaws, and sprung towards the next man, who happened to be the one holding the chain. The chain jerked a final time as the beast attacked the man, and hot blood began to pool on the ground. D struggled up, pulling the chain off over his head. Tasia was watching fearfully from the window of the little cottage, and as D stood up, their eyes met. Tasia stared at him briefly with overwhelming pity and terror, but then she shuddered, sobbing, and hid her face in her hands. D turned and fled. Behind him he heard the death cries of the wolf, and then the sounds of pursuit. Had the wolf killed two, or three of the men? How many were left? D didn't want to look back. Suddenly he remembered what he had done the last time he was being chased through those woods. That dark, overwhelming power- he didn't want it to come back.

D made up his mind to give up. He stopped running and turned to face the men, only to have an arrow embed itself in his stomach. A second arrow quickly followed, missing his heart by an inch or two. D collapsed in pain, and within seconds, two of the men caught up with him. One of them was the man with the long knife. "Good shooting," he complimented the other man, who had another arrow fitted to his bow.

"Shall I pin him down for you?" the hunter asked, his voice and expression icy.

"Yeah," the man with the knife replied. D was lying on his side in the dirt with his right hand stretched out, clutching at the earth. The archer let his arrow fly, and it drove itself through D's hand, pinning it to the ground. D saw it, but he didn't feel it. His vision was growing hazy, and everything seemed far away. One thought consumed his mind… he couldn't hurt these people, he mustn't hurt them. Almost blind, he twisted his body into a position to crawl away, but the arrow through his hand held him in place. As soon as his other hand touched the ground, it too was pinned in place by an arrow. Only that time, D felt a pain keener and sharper than he could have ever imagined. A million deaths could not be as severe as the pain that shot through his hand at that instant, paralyzing him.

The archer smiled grimly. "My special arrow," he said proudly.

"What's special about it?" the man with the knife asked.

"Oh, I dunno… rumor is, it's possessed. No matter where you aim it, it strikes its target true, as if it knows where it's going."

"That's rubbish," the first man scoffed, flipping his knife in the air and catching it easily. Both men looked expectantly at D, who was perfectly still.

"Is he dead?" the archer asked.

"Don't know. Would be a blessing if he were. Best to make sure, just in case."

The man with the long knife stepped over to D, lifted his head by the hair, and quickly drew his knife across the pale throat. He sliced D's neck three-fourths of the way through, and blood gushed out and began to spread. The man dropped D's head in disgust. "Ugh," he said, wiping his knife on the ground. "Vampire blood. I hope some foul beast comes along and laps it up, just for the sake of justice."

"Justice been done now," the archer said softly. "Our children can sleep safely at last." He walked over and wrapped his hand around the arrow in D's left hand. He gave it a tug, but it was stuck fast. He tugged at it again, with no result. The man frowned.

"What are you doing?" his companion asked.

"My special arrow," the archer said. "It won't come out."

"So leave it there. Come on, our work is done."

"No, this is my special arrow, don't you understand? It's worth a fortune, I can't just leave it here to rot with this the body of this foul monster!" he pulled on the arrow with all his might, but to no avail. The man with the knife rolled his eyes.

"Here, let me try." He came over and pulled on the arrow, but it didn't budge. The man frowned and pulled out his knife. Then he attempted to dig the arrow out of D's hand. After a few minutes, there was a large bloody hole in the hand, and in the ground beneath it, but the arrow was still firmly in place.

"I can't leave my special arrow," the archer babbled. "It's possessed or haunted or something, it's got magical powers!"

"Well then, maybe whatever's possessing it has made up its mind to stay where it is. Most likely you just shot it real good into a tree root or something. But it's not worth it to waste all this time. We ought to head back to the cottage. No telling when more wolves might show up." He tucked his knife into his belt and began to walk off. The archer gave the arrow one last desperate tug, and then followed his friend.

* * *

A/N: if anyone's reading this (which I doubt), hang in there for at least one more chapter! Thanks! 


	4. Close Enough

Chapter 4: Close Enough

A few more minutes passed in silence, and then the skin around the cut on D's neck began to heal. It drew itself back together, melting and knitting itself together until it was smooth and pure and there was no sign that it had ever been cut at all. At last D opened his eyes. He could feel himself healing, and felt new strength in his limbs. He ripped his right hand up from the ground, snapped the arrow in two, and drew it out with his teeth. His hand healed almost immediately, and D used it to pull the arrows out of his stomach and this shoulder. Rather than hurting, the wounds merely itched furiously until they were healed. At last D was whole and healthy, except for the arrow still stuck through his left hand. A faint memory of the pain caused by that arrow made D hesitate to touch it. But soon the healing flesh of his hand itched so badly that he couldn't bear it, and he knew that the arrow had to come out. D clenched his teeth, grabbed the arrow, and pulled it free. Once it was out, it crumbled to dust. D scratched at the palm of his hand, but the itchiness was deep inside the bones, where the healing was incomplete.

"Do you mind?" a gruff voice asked, sounding slightly annoyed. "that's my face you're digging at with those nasty claws of yours."

D was startled. "Who said that?" he asked, looking around.

"I did," came the reply, only D couldn't tell exactly where it came from.

"Who are you?" D asked, suspecting some kind of trickery.

"Well naturally I haven't got a _name_," the voice said, sounding amused this time. "I'm only a lesser demon; I'm not anywhere near powerful enough to deserve my very own name."

"I'm afraid I don't understand," D said cautiously. D had heard of demons before, and he had seem their influence, but he had never spoken to one directly. Suddenly he felt a something move in his hand, like a giant coiled worm wriggling in his skin. It wasn't painful or ticklish, it was just very odd. Grabbing his own wrist tightly with his right hand, he turned his left hand over, and stared down at his palm.

A face was forming in the flesh of his palm. D's eyes widened in surprise. Two black eyes stared up at him, and the ugly face cracked a large grin. "Hello!" the face in his hand said. "It's nice to finally get a look at you. You've only seen your proper reflection once in a mirror. The puddles you like to stare at aren't as clear. And you've grown since then, at least a little!"

"How did you know about that?" D asked, frowning. "The mirror, and the puddles?"

"From your memories, obviously. A hundred years or more of schooling, and you're still so stupid you couldn't figure that out?"

D's frown deepened. "What?" sneered the demon in his hand. "Never been insulted by your own hand before?" It laughed raucously at itself and then made a sniffing noise. D held his hand at length, unsure of what to expect.

"How did you get here?" D asked.

"Simple enough. I've been looking for a host for thousand years. I was cursed, trapped into an arrow, and I couldn't escape until I found my way into a suitable host. But the only things I ever got shot at were deer, birds, rodents, and that sort of thing…never a human! Most of the time I killed whatever I hit, anyway, but then I found you! And you're very different, my friend. You're strong, I can tell. You won't be so easy to kill! So I decided to hang on, to take my chances with you. And it worked! I'm free! While I was waiting for you to wake up and remove that miserable cursed arrow, I skimmed through your memories. You've already got a lifetime of them stored away, and most of them I can't make sense of right or left or upside down. Say, that reminds me…." The face turned pensive, and D's fingers wiggled involuntarily. "Ah, so that's the thumb… this must be your left hand. How wonderful!"

"I don't think it's wonderful," D said. "I've got some demon thing infesting my hand, and it can obviously take over my fingers whenever it wants to. What else can you do? Can you make my whole arm do whatever you wish? Will you migrate to my brain someday and take over my whole body?"

The face in his hand laughed loudly. D scowled at it- it was shriveled and hideous. "No, I can't do that, as much as I would like to. I am a very small demon, with merely local influence, and I have already picked my place of residence. I am in your hand, and here I shall stay."

"For how long?" D asked, not liking his new companion at all.

"Oh, probably forever," the hand replied nonchalantly, grinning again.

"No," D said, shaking his hand as if to shake it free of some slime.

"What do you mean, 'no'?" the demon asked. "Are you actually dumb enough to think that you can somehow get rid of me, now that I've chosen my new home after a thousand years of searching?"

"There has to be a way," D said desperately. "I'm not letting you stay there. That's my hand, and I'm not sharing it."

"Oh well," the hand sighed. "I guess that's the attitude I ought to expect from a spoiled dhampir prince."

"What did you call me?" D asked darkly, wondering how badly it would hurt to cut off his own hand.

"Dhampir. As in, half-vampire. Well, that's what you are, isn't it? You're obviously not a purebred of either species, as is evidenced by your appearance and your toleration of the sunlight."

"My father goes about in the sunlight sometimes."

"oh ho ho, does he now? Well, I supposed the vampire king ought to have some sort of privilege above his subjects. What are you getting at, that you're not a half-breed?"

"what if I wasn't?" D asked. "I'd be a lot more wicked and devilish; you'd probably like that."

The hand made a sound of shocked disgust. "Bwaugh! You, a vampire? How repulsive! Don't ever suggest such profanity in my presence ever again!" D's hand gave a little shiver. "Vampires… what hideous, miserable brutes! Vile and corrupt, always thirsting for blood, for the blood of innocent humans! Their existence is an evil flaw in this world, a shame and a tragedy that should never have come to pass! All life mourns and curses the day when the first vampire came staggering out of his tomb, driven by the vile thirst in his heart, mind, and rotten, tattered soul to feast in his gluttony on open human veins."

D's mind was spinning. "You're only saying that because you read my mind," he accused, keeping his voice level.

"Not true," the demon replied. "I cannot read your mind. I can see glimpses of your memory, and feel echoes of your emotions, that's all."

"If I become a vampire someday," D reasoned, studying the demon face. "Would you go away?"

"I would have no choice," the demon replied. "I would cease to exist if you became a vampire. Like I said, I am a lesser demon. I can only exist if I belong to a human."

"Then what are you doing in my hand? I'm not human," D said, frustrated and annoyed.

"You're close enough," D's hand replied, and there was a tinge of kindness in the voice.

D studied the ugly, wrinkled face, and then suddenly made a fist. When he opened his fingers again, the face was gone. D blinked, frowned, and flexed his fingers again. He looked at the back of his hand, and his other hand too. The face was gone.

What to do now? D was at a loss. Should he return to the Belus' house, to apologize? Could he beg forgiveness? Would they listen if he told them the truth? "_Better if they think I'm dead_," D reasoned silently. _"It was the wolf that killed those men, not me. And they know I would never have… I would never have turned on them, or done anything to bring them grief. They were my family… they know that, and I shall let that memory of me be preserved._"

D's thoughts turned to the angry men who had trapped him and tried to kill him. They thought he was his father. How could they make such a terrible mistake? D's father was a lot taller, and his face was much, much older. Surely the people knew that the vampire who preyed upon them wasn't a child. D knew he looked like a child to human eyes. He had allowed himself to believe that he even looked like a _human_ child. But obviously he looked enough like a monster for the people to mistake him for one. And how could he have corrected them? D had never heard the word Dhampir before that afternoon. He had never been fully sure of what he was, but he knew he wasn't a vampire- he didn't drink blood, and never would: he had promised his mother that he wouldn't, and his father had sworn as well- his father had since broken that oath, but D was determined not to. His father always provided only regular food for D to eat- he had never offered him blood. D felt sick just thinking about it. But he had fangs, after all- and that was all the proof the men needed to identify him as a vampire. The demon in his hand told him he wasn't a vampire; said he was 'close enough' to a human. But he was close enough to a vampire for the men to kill him as one.

D wasn't sure if he was angry at the men or not. Their knowledge of vampires was shockingly limited. They had hurt him with their weapons, but caused him far worse pain with their words and their desperation to believe his guilt. D's father had killed their loved ones, their neighbors and friends. They were fully justified in seeking revenge. Suddenly D wished with all his heart that they had found his father instead, and killed him, although he knew that they never would have been able to. D's father was the vampire king, and could have killed the men with barely a clap of his hands. It was better for them to _think_ they had gotten their revenge, even though their 'revenge' did nothing but deprive D of the only friends he had ever had. D felt tears brewing in his eyes again. Mrs. Belus and Tasia: he would never see them again. And his wicked father would continue to feed upon the innocent, ignorant humans, causing them pain and grief and rage.

Hunched over in the forest, the ground around him wet from his own blood, D felt all of those emotions sweep over him. What could he do? Was there nothing he could do? Was he doomed to forever be hated? He brought his hands up and covered his face, trying not to sob aloud even though there was no one to hear him.

He had momentarily forgotten the demon. He jumped as he felt the face forming in his palm. "I thought you could use a little time to yourself," his hand said sympathetically. "Your mind is all tied and twisted into one huge painful knot. Come on now, talk to me. I haven't had a conversation in a thousand years. And I might be able to help you."

"Help me?" D said, not trusting the demon.

"Why not- we're buddies after all; we've got a lot of things in common. Well, five things, anyway:" he made each of D's fingers twitch in turn as he counted: "1, 2, 3, 4, 5- hah!" the face laughed and snorted and grinned, pleased with itself. D felt annoyed. "I can see you're going to be a tough customer," the demon conceded. "But seriously, what's on your mind?"

"I've never been happy and I never will be," D declared with all the conviction of a human teenager who _knows_ the world has wronged them.

"And why is that?' the demon asked patiently.

"Because of what I am!" D exclaimed. "Because I'm a--"

"Now hold on, young man," the hand interrupted. "You're half human, and humans have the distinct luxury of getting to _choose_ what they are. I'm sure you know that some humans are good, and some are evil, just as evil as any vampire- but they get to choose that for themselves, and so do you."

D felt slightly comforted. "But what I _look_ like…" he began.

"You haven't been out in the world much, have you? Plenty of people look a lot more monstrous than you. You look perfectly human, as long as you keep your mouth closed."

"Out in the world…" D muttered, an idea slowly growing in his mind. "Is there anywhere on earth that people don't know about vampires?" he asked.

"Hmm, a tough question from a tough customer…" his hand mumbled. "Why?"

"Because if there is, then I want to go there, and, well, I could pretend to be human, and live there."

The shriveled face looked at him thoughtfully. "You know, that sounds like a good idea. The world is quite huge. But you're talking about a major operation: it will take lots of research and planning."

D jumped to his feet, excited about the possibilities. He hurried towards the castle through the lengthening shadows of the afternoon.

* * *

A/N: soooo…. am I beating a dead horse with the whole half-breed conflict? I think I've tried to edit this last chapter at least a dozen times but I can't make up my mind on what to eliminate. But I do get the feeling that I'm repeating myself repetitively, you know? I guess since this is a "where did he come from?" story, angst is acceptable. 


	5. Plans

Chapter 5: Plans

The north tower library was dark and D was asleep with a book on his lap when he suddenly felt the presence of his father beside him. He opened his eyes, remembered it was an atlas on his lap, and closed the book.

"Father?" he asked the impending silence. "Did you want something?"

"I was just admiring you," the old vampire said in his distinguished, cool voice. "You've grown so much these past few years, though I daresay you've got a bit more growing left to do before you're done."  
D realized that his father sounded less weary and more youthful than he had in the past few weeks. Then he realized that he could smell blood- his father had fed very recently. The smell was unusually strong, and it made him uncomfortable, which his father immediately noticed. "The smell," he said wisely. "It bothers you lately."

"Yes," D admitted, since it was true. His father's expression was tinged with regret.

"But never mind that- I wanted to talk to you. Tell me- do you know what year the humans call it?"

"This year, father? It's 1914." Twelve years had passed since the fateful day when the men had tried to kill D and the demon had come into his hand. D never told his father about anything that happened that day, though he had been planning almost constantly since then to escape into the wide, welcoming world.

"Yes, that's right," his father said distractedly. "You know there's a war on?"

"There's always a war on," D answered, fangs gleaming as he yawned and stood to return the atlas to its shelf.

"Indeed. I'm talking about the current war in Europe; it's causing quite a stir. Never been anything like it before, what with the new technological advances in weaponry and such…"

"I've read about it," D said, feeling edgy and impatient. The sharp smell of blood seemed to be suffocating him.

"Well I've decided to do something I haven't done since before you were born," the vampire king explained. "Something fairly exciting: I'm summoning a number of aristocrats here for a meeting. The war's inspired me: we need to organize, regroup, and stick to a coherent strategy for this modern age. And I think we can use the war to our advantage."

"How many is 'a number'?" D asked suspiciously. There hadn't been a proper visitor to the castle since that Harker fellow 18 years previously. D recalled with amusement how the bewildered businessman had thwarted his father's intentions and survived, and published his whole ordeal in a book, which was how D came to learn of it. His father had been furious, until he realized that most of the humans thought it was a _fictional_ story.

"About a hundred," his father replied. "In the old days we had gatherings of five times that number, but alas, our noble race has fallen unto hard times."

D felt the demon smirking in his palm. It was common knowledge that many vampires blamed their race's recent downfall on the poor judgment and emotional instability of their king: when he fell in love with D's mother, he ceased to care about vampire affairs, and a period of chaotic feuding erupted, which was ongoing.

"A hundred?" D echoed. "But the castle…"

His father sighed. "I know, it needs a little renovation. That's the other thing I've come to talk to you about. With the recent shortage of appropriate laborers, I've actually hired some humans. I'm going to rely on your help to supervise them."

"Humans?" D was astounded. It seemed to him that his father had lost his mind. "You've _hired_ humans to _renovate_ the castle?"

"Precisely," his father said. "Come to my study, I'd like to discuss the plans with you in depth." He disappeared. D frowned, and headed for the door.

* * *

The workers arrived the following week. D, dressed in proper modern clothing with his usually long hair neatly trimmed, met them at the new train station, in the now-thriving town. The last time D had been to the town had been on an outing with his mother, about a century previously. He was amazed, and a little unnerved, to see that nothing was as he remembered. Standing on the platform, he found himself casually watching a mother trying to control her two excited children. She was beautiful, with dark golden hair pulled back and a fashionable dark blue skirt, and she smiled and laughed as her little girl and even littler boy asked her questions and begged to be allowed this and that. Suddenly D felt his heart flutter- and he realized that he recognized her. It was none other than Tasia Belus. _Only she'll have a different last name now_, he thought. He felt a twinge of sadness. To him it seemed like yesterday that he'd eaten cake on her 10th birthday, and yet somehow a hugely important part of her life had passed by, without him. _Surely she remembers me_, he thought, and at that moment she happened to turn her eyes towards him. She met his gaze, and froze. D raised his hand shyly in greeting. Tasia pulled her children close, muttered something to them, and then looked up again. Then, with an air of determination, she strode towards him.

"D?" she asked, when she was about 20 feet away.

"Tasia?" he asked, and tried to smile- mindful to keep his mouth mostly closed, of course.

"I can't believe it," she said softly. "It's been ten years at least,"

"12," D corrected.

"It's like a miracle. They said they killed you,"

"They certainly tried to," D said, trying to be cheerful, for he could sense the curiosity of the children turning to fear at the word 'killed'. "You're married now?" he said, to change the subject. "And these are your children?"

"Yes," Tasia said, blushing. "Samantha will be 7 soon, Geoffrey is 4."

"They're lovely," D said. "Just like their mother." Tasia looked hard into his eyes.

"I- I prayed for you," she said haltingly.

"Those prayers were much needed, I assure you," D said.

"You look the same. A little taller..."

"Yes, it's rather embarrassing, I'm nearly thirty but I don't even need to shave… the doctors say it's a medical mystery. They wanted to send me to London to see some specialists but the war, you know, it rather got in the way of their plans."

Tasia's face relaxed as she seized onto an answer. "I've never heard of such a thing, but perhaps all the medicines you took as a child…"

"Yes, surely it's something like that," D said weakly. He felt horrible for deceiving her, but what choice did he have?

"Momma, the train!" Geoffrey said, pointing down the track. Sure enough, the train was arriving. D felt relieved. Soon it would be on to business.

"How is your mother?" He asked, noticing Tasia still looking at him.

"Oh! She's doing wonderfully, she lives in town now, near our house. I know she'd be delighted to see you; won't you drop in sometime? How about this Saturday? It will be a regular celebration. Imagine it- it's like you're back from the dead! oh I do hope that's not blasphemous."

"You were dead?" Samantha asked suddenly, staring at D with enormous, innocent brown eyes.

"No, not exactly," D said.

"Samantha, what a silly question," Tasia scolded. "D, what do you say? Will you come to dinner on Saturday?"

More than anything, he knew he wanted to, but how would he manage it around the renovation schedule? Today was Monday- surely in six days time there would be some legitimate excuse to return to the town. D smiled and bowed. "It would be an unrivaled honor," he said, "and certainly the most pleasurable company I've had in twelve years or so."

Tasia laughed at his dramatic air, and the train slowed to a noisy hissing halt in front of them. The first man off the train was a brown-haired man of average height with an impressive moustache and a broad smile.

"Daddy!" shrieked the children, running to his legs. He swooped them up and hugged them, kissing them and swinging them around.

"My princess!" He said to Samantha, beaming. "Why don't you inspect my pockets, they're feeling oddly heavy…" within seconds the children were busy unwrapping their presents, and the man reached for his beautiful wife. They embraced.

"Goodness, how you carry on," Tasia scolded, but she smiled just as brightly as he.

"Beware, my lady, or I shall carry _you_ off!" he said, and picked her up.

"Oh!" Tasia gasped, blushing. "Put me down, you scoundrel." She looked over at D and her husband followed her gaze. Immediately he put Tasia down and offered D his hand.

"Hello, how do you do? Richard Rowntree."

"This is my old friend D," Tasia explained before D could speak. D found himself shaking the man's warm, wide hand.

"Pleasure," Richard said.

"All mine, I assure you, Mr. Rowntree," D said, feeling overwhelmed.

"I've invited D to dinner this Saturday," Tasia said.

"Splendid!" Richard said cheerfully. "I look forward to it."

"As do I," D replied politely.

* * *

Somehow the situation sorted itself out at the train station and at sundown a caravan of ten mule-drawn wagons, loaded with men and equipment, set out on the long journey to the castle. The renovations were scheduled to take three weeks, and were to cost D's father an unheard of sum of money. D acted as liaison between the men and his father, and he found that he rather enjoyed their company. They were an industrious, dedicated bunch of men, all glad of the well-paying job that was far, far from the fields of France. They took pride in their work, and didn't ask too many questions, and there was a distinct feeling of teamwork among them. They were simple, almost crude, and they teased D in a brotherly way, which he didn't mind at all. By Friday it appeared that there was going to be a minor shortage of odd supplies, and though the foreman assured D that they could get by without, D insisted that he would go to town over the weekend to buy exactly what they were missing. The men had off on Sunday, so there was no hurry for D to return Saturday night. Several men made requests for personal items, and D promised to buy them whatever they wanted. And so with a shopping list in hand, D returned to the town on Saturday, and kept his promise to Tasia.

* * *

To D's relief, dinner went well. The children warmed to him quickly, especially after Tasia told them that he had pointed ears, which he had then been forced to reveal. The children were enchanted by this oddity, and D became their favorite person. Richard was an accomplished businessman from York, who had been to India and to various islands in the Caribbean, and to America several times. D found that he liked talking to him, and he saw that he truly adored his wife. The Rowntree family taught him more about being human in that one evening than hundreds of books had taught him in all his long years of study before that. And old Mrs. Belus was so overjoyed to see him, it was as if her own son had returned, as Tasia remarked, from the dead. After dessert, as they all sat around the fire, Tasia's eyes sparkled as she brought in the very Bible that D had read to her in the cottage all those years ago, and asked if he might read a verse or two. Honored, D took the Bible, and read chapter after chapter in his gentle, soothing voice until the children, and old Mrs. Belus, were sound asleep. They invited him back for dinner the following Saturday, and D accepted.

* * *

A/N: Man, this chapter gave me problems. I liked the first part, but I really strangled the rest of it, because I felt like I was getting bogged down in the "happy human family" stuff. I needed to get back to the bloody vampire stuff. 


	6. The Celebration

Chapter 6: The Celebration

The renovations on the castle were completed on time, and all the workers went away, quite happy with their paychecks, and only mildly troubled by the fact that they had never laid eyes on the 'Count' who had employed them. D accompanied them back to the train station to see them off, sold the wagons and mules, and went eagerly to his third meal with the Rowntrees.

They ate, and drank, and Richard told stories of his travels in America, of a mysterious, beautiful place called New Orleans, and the things he had seen there. He told a story he had heard there, a ghost story of a haunted house, and the witches who had cursed it with their evil magic.

"America has the best ghost stories!" Tasia exclaimed as the story ended.

"Do you believe in ghosts?" D asked.

"I most certainly do," Mrs. Belus spoke up. "My dead husband's ghost, I saw him several a time. But never I told dear Tasia, for it would have frightened her."

"Momma," Tasia said condescendingly. "I wouldn't have been scared. Why I thought D was a ghost the first time I saw him, and he became my best friend!" D nearly blushed. "As a matter of fact, when I saw him standing on the train station I was sure he was a ghost right then!"

"Are you a ghost?" Geoffrey asked. It seemed possible to the child.

"No," D said, smiling.

"And not a vampire either," Mrs. Belus declared.

"Quite right," D agreed, coughing a little as he took a sip of beer. "It seems to me that most people think vampires are just as unreal as ghosts," he continued.

"Most people are fools then," Mrs. Belus grumbled. "I know they exist."

"They exist in New Orleans, anyway," Richard said cheerfully, raising his drink. "People in the pubs swear up and down that they do. Lot of rubbish, but entirely entertaining."

* * *

"Well I guess we won't be going to America," D's hand grumbled as he rode home that night. "Pity. It sounds like such a fun place. I wanted to see the buffalo-" D stopped his horse. There was a carriage approaching behind him, traveling much too fast. He looked over his shoulder as it rounded the bend, lighted with unearthly blue lanterns and ornately decorated with gems. As D watched, the carriage pulled up beside him and came to a silent halt. The door flung itself open.

"By the Gods," an overdramatic female voice declared from the bluish darkness within. "You are nobility after all, from the look of you. I knew I sensed it. But _what,_ by all things sacred, are you doing out here on a _horse_?"

D took an immediate disliking to the owner of the voice, who he seriously doubted was human. "I prefer to ride," he said quietly.

"Without an escort? I've never heard of such impropriety. Come, you must ride the rest of the way with me."

"I beg your pardon, but, who are you?" D asked.

"You may call me Madame Ecclav," she said imperiously, with a thick rolling accent. "Now don't disobey- step inside at once."

Unsure of why this stranger thought she had authority over him, D dismounted and pulled the bridle off his horse. It would find its way back to the stables, unmolested by wolves. Removing his hat, he stepped into the dimly lit carriage, and the door slammed shut behind him. He was vaguely aware of the carriage moving forward. Madame Ecclav was dressed in an elaborate costume made of hundreds of thousands of tiny blue sapphires sewn together with thin silver threads. She was, unmistakably, a vampire, with huge red eyes that looked extremely eerie in the blue surroundings. Her pale flesh looked nearly blue, her long, curving fingernails were painted blue, and her hair was dyed blue. D had read of the eccentricities of some of the older vampire families but he had never imagined something as extreme as this. Madame Ecclav had a tall, graceful, somehow flowing body that seemed to bend just a little too fluidly and flexibly.

"My _Gods_, who are you?" she asked, her red eyes widening.

"D," D replied. Madame Ecclav inhaled sharply, showing blue-white fangs.

"So the rumor's true: _she_ had a child, after all- and he's still alive- and he's riding with me in my carriage!" She chuckled darkly, seeming inordinately proud of herself for stringing all this together. D repressed his indignation at the snide reference to his mother. "you look just like your father. I thought you were one of his nephews, invited to the celebration as I was. But now I see that you're a Dhampir- how distressing. But you must still be underage- perhaps your father is waiting for the thirst to awaken by itself. No use rushing, I suppose. You'll be your rightful way soon enough, though I imagine you're impatient at the moment."

D did his best to act like he understood what she was talking about, although what she said deeply confused and bothered him. They arrived at the castle several minutes later, having covered a distance that would have taken D a few hours on horseback, and D was surprised to see that several other guests had arrived at the same time. He felt stupid for not asking his father when the gathering would take place- he had simply assumed that, since he wasn't invited, he would ignore the whole business.

* * *

D stepped down from the carriage and politely offered his hand to Madame Ecclav. The gem-covered fabric rustled faintly as she descended from the carriage, emanating wealth and superiority and a cruel sense of dignity. She was cold and inhuman, regal and dangerous, and D hated her. He hated her for what she was, for her very existence. He longed to be back at the supper table with Tasia and her children, busy and warm and chattering. Madame Ecclav would have seen that family as a panther or an enormous serpent would see a family of squirrels- busy, brainless, lesser creatures to be destroyed with indifference. Madame Ecclav stood impossibly still, almost glowing like moonlight as her wine-colored eyes coolly surveyed the castle. She remained motionless for several moments, and D felt his impatience, like his disgust, rising. "What are you looking at?" he asked finally, breaking the spell. Madame Ecclav did not move, but her eyes flickered to his face in surprise.

"You cannot see it?" she whispered, "it must be your weaker blood exerting itself. Here, let me help you." Before D could dodge aside, Madame Ecclav grabbed his hand. She intertwined his fingers with hers- they were cold and smooth as polished stone- "Now close your eyes, then open them, and _look_." Curious, D obeyed- and when he looked up at the castle again, he saw, to his astonishment, bright lights blazing from every stone- the castle seemed to be on fire with emerald and violet flames of every hue- twisting colors and shapes played across every surface, forming animals, humans, demons, creatures, that ran and danced and leaped and disappeared like smoke, only to re-form as a new image. D had never seen anything so magnificent or magical. It was truly wondrous. Until Madame Ecclav touched him, he had only been able to see what humans would have seen- the plain grey stones of the castle, illuminated only by moonlight. Had they been able to see the display, humans would have found it brilliant and mesmerizing, yet somehow discomfiting, because there was a deliberate slowness in the way the colors changed and moved. Though they looked somewhat like flames, it was as though they moved in slow motion, and the dancing shapes and creatures formed and moved too slowly, as if time played differently for them. It was strong, beautiful magic. D's pulse quickened, which bothered Madame Ecclav.

"I've never liked touching things that are alive," she said snobbishly, dropping his hand. Instantly the colors died and the castle appeared as it had- cold, grey, and shadowy. "I usually have my servants hold my prey for me, you know, so I only have to touch their necks and not their filthy limbs or clothing." She tipped her chin up imperiously, and a smile curved her lips. D stared at her and fought to conceal his revulsion. "Let's get on to the party. I'm always on time; vanity demands it of me. I shan't have your father thinking poorly of me."

The interior of the castle was lavishly decorated with candles, tapestries and sculptures, grotesque and compelling, the work of vampire and demon artisans throughout the centuries. D noted that his father had put every piece of treasure on display, doubtlessly hoping to impress his guests and remind them that their king still had power. D slipped away to his chambers as soon as he could, leaving Madame Ecclav to boast silkily to some other vampires about his charming, noble character and how she had had the honor of his company. The castle was feeling crowded and D could tell that a number of unseen- and possibly uninvited- guests were following him in the walls and floor.

"Leave me alone," he grumbled, as several invisible creatures tried to whisper to him. He waved his hands angrily in front of him, feeling them pass through something like a cold vapor. He ran the last few steps to his bedroom and slipped inside the door, slamming it shut behind him. He turned and found himself face-to-face with his father.

"You're rather late," Dracula said dryly.

"What do you want?" D said, taken aback.

"Actually, I want to invite you to the meeting. I realized that I had forgotten to do so, and it was a terrible oversight on my part."

"I don't want any part of it. Isn't it just for vampires, anyway?"

"Ah. About that, you see, today is your birthday. You're 150 years old."

D blinked. What did that have to do with anything? His father sighed, and an almost-human expression stole across his face. "It's never happened before," he continued, looking worried and old, almost regretful. "…That a dhampir was… was anyone of importance… but you see, as my son, the time has come for you to take your place in our society-"

"What are you talking about? My _place_ in your society? I haven't got a place in your society! I'm not your heir; immortals don't need heirs."

"You don't understand, and it's my fault, I know. I haven't explained anything to you because I've always thought of you as a child, just an… an innocent child. But the fact is, you are a prince, _the_ prince, of the vampires. Whether you want to be or not, that's what you are. And now that you're the legal age, the aristocrats I have gathered here tonight are going to recognize you and respect you as my son. Truthfully, when I married your mother, they lost respect for me- and they all sneered at you. But that ends tonight. They _will_ recognize you, as my legitimate son." Dracula gazed at D sternly, his face rigid with resolve.

D didn't know what to say. He felt a strong sense of foreboding. He felt a warning growing in the back of his mind. There was something immensely powerful hidden behind his father's eyes, something that demanded cooperation.

Dracula looked away and waved his hand in the direction of D's bed. D saw that a new set of clothing was laid out for him- all black, with several circular ornaments of sapphire and garnet. "Get dressed," his father said. "And come down to the banquet hall." The vampire king vanished. D hardly noticed his father's sudden departure. He was staring at the black outfit, a sort of dread seeping through him. The air grew thick and dead around him, and he knew he would have to obey his father. The entire castle was under powerful dark enchantment tonight, and D could tell that something sinister had been put into motion around him. He was trapped. Gracefully he undid the buttons on his human clothing, the costume he had worn to dinner in what seemed like another life. He put on the elegant black clothing, the clothing of a vampire prince. His pale face wrinkled in disgust as he realized the clothes were a perfect fit, and without needing a mirror or the cynical commentary of his possessed hand, he knew he looked the part.

* * *

D cracked open the door and peeked inside. The banquet hall was as big as a cathedral and just as magnificent. Tall candles lined the walls between statues both hideous and elegant. At the far end, there was a roaring fire in a fireplace as big as a cave. In front of the fireplace was a long table, with enough seats for all the guests. The table, covered with a red silk tablecloth, had nothing on top of it except for candles, bottles of wine, and crystal goblets. There were two chairs, side-by-side, that were more like thrones. D recognized one as belonging exclusively to his father. Sickened, he realized that the other throne must be intended for him, so he could 'take his place' among them. _Them_.

The whole room was filled with them, their red eyes gleaming, unblinking, their bodies like the statues along the walls. They didn't move and speak as humans would in a crowd, but formed loose groups, keeping their distance, as if they were all novice actors told to stay on a certain "x" on a stage. They all turned to study D as he entered the room from a small side door, hoping to escape notice. Realizing immediately that he was the center of attention, D straightened. No one moved or uttered a sound for several moments. A log cracked in the fireplace, sending up a shower of sparks.

"I told you he was handsome," Madame Ecclav remarked, breaking the silence at last. "Just like his father. A striking resemblance."

Quiet dialogue resumed, and several guests addressed D, whether they were standing near him or not: "We've been waiting a long time for this occasion. Congratulations." D, like the rest of them, could hear every word uttered in the room. He didn't like the fact that most of what he heard concerned him, in some way or other. He also didn't like the feeling that the evil creatures were projecting towards him- a feeling of acceptance and even encouragement. He wanted no acceptance from them.

Suddenly he heard, as they all heard, the king's voice in their heads. _Come to the table, and we will begin the celebration._ Wordlessly, the guests began to glide across the polished black stone of the floor, moving to their places at the table. D moved as they did. Anticipation resonated in the banquet hall like music, and everyone stood still and breathless- except for D, who stood still and tried to breathe as quietly and imperceptibly as possible.

The flames in the fireplace grew brighter and higher until they were pure white, but instead of heat, coldness rolled out into the room. The flames flickered green and grew darker, parting in the middle to reveal a shadowy figure that the flames had previously concealed. The figure stepped forward, and everyone sensed that the vampire king had arrived.

He was dressed like a king, in scarlet and black, complete with a flowing robe with dark, wet-looking rubies for a clasp. In his arms he held a small-looking body wrapped in white silk. D's heart began to pound. He remembered the men who had attacked him at the Belus's cottage- one of them had a pointy stake and a mallet to drive it with- he felt as if someone was driving that stake through him right now. Dracula looked at him significantly, and placed the body on the table. The guests caught the scent of it and there was a pleased murmur of approval. The king beckoned to his son, and D came forward, wishing he could run the other way.

"Aristocrats," Dracula began, holding out his hands. "Thank you for answering my summons. We have many important things to discuss this night. I am calling upon each of you to help me restore the power of our race. My recent weakness as a leader, as well as rampant vanity and greed within our ranks, has caused an infestation to spread around this world. The human infestation represents a great danger to us in its present form. However, if we work together, and employ our minds and not just our appetites, we can transform the threat into an unprecedented opportunity. I am calling upon each of you to take on the responsibility- and to swear an oath of loyalty, so that we may act as one in the crucial years ahead. But first, I want all of you to join with me in celebration as my only son joins us for the feast."

A voice like a rushed whisper spoke in D's head. _The others can't hear this. You must do exactly as I say_, it said, and D knew it was his father. D knew he was under the heavy influence of magic. Most likely, if he lost consciousness now his body would still comply with his father's instructions. He desperately wished he _could_ lose consciousness, to be spared the obscenity of the 'feast' his father mentioned. _It's not obscene and you **will **remain conscious_, the whisper said angrily, and D knew his father was listening to his thoughts. He felt his father's cool, strong hand on his shoulder.

"My son is no longer a child." _You will kill her_, the whisper ordered.

_No. No. No. _D thought, but his thoughts seemed blurred, like speaking underwater.

"Tonight he will be reborn. Tonight he disowns the weaker half of his heritage, sheds his pretense of humanity, and gains his true form at last." _When I pull back the veil, you will sink your teeth into her throat._

D clenched his teeth as if he could fuse them together. _I won't. I won't!_

Dracula shot a freezing glare at his son, and D felt a surge of dark energy rush towards him. The dark power slapped him across the face. It was a stinging blow- it would have sent a human flying across the room, and it would have made D stagger backwards if other magic hadn't been holding him firmly in place. His father had never struck him before. Like a child, D felt the instinct to reach up to his face and cry, but he repressed those feelings. The guests hadn't noticed the burst of violent energy. Unwillingly, D took the final step forward. He was standing beside the victim, his fingertips resting on the edge of the table, inches from the white silk veiling the body. _You'll put your hands on her shoulders to hold her down. You will bite her carefully, deliberately, not like a mouse that's scared of its food and not like a ravenous dog gnashing at a carcass._ His father was speaking some eloquent words about honor, power, and sacred rites, but D didn't hear them. He only heard his father's whisper inside his head. _Stop resisting. This is for your own good. You'll understand once it's complete. You'll understand that this is how it has to be. There's no other way. You are what you are, my son. _It was almost as if his father was pleading with him. The other vampires were all nodding their approval and gazing at him with vaguely hungry expressions.

_I can't do it! _D thought desperately.

_Yes you can_. _When I pull back the veil, she'll awake from the trance. You must be firm, and quick- don't give her time to wake up enough to scream. You won't like the taste of her fear. Just put your hands on her shoulders and let instinct guide your lips to her throat. Almost like- a kiss. Then kill her. It will take only a few moments._

_A kiss? _D's mind reeled. He remembered waking up in the Belus's cottage as a boy. It was Tasia's birthday then. She wanted a kiss for a birthday present. He remembered how the glow of the dying fire had made her hair shine like gold. He remembered the happiness in her eyes and the sound of her laugh.

Suddenly there wasn't time to think anymore. His father pulled back the silken sheet and flung it into the fire. Beneath it, wearing a simple white dress with red flowers tied in her dark gold hair, was Tasia Belus Rowntree. Slowly she opened her eyes.


	7. Darkness

Chapter 7: Darkness

_Now!_ Commanded the voice inside D's head. D was frozen. He felt as if the whole world was crumbling down into Hell all around him.

_Not Tasia. Not Tasia! _D could no longer hold back his tears. They trickled down his pale, smooth face, looking strangely out of place on his expressionless countenance. The hundred guests were waiting, almost hovering, each one looking like they might pounce on the victim at any moment. Dracula knew that if another second expired, they would begin to question his son's motivation, and all chance of regaining their respect would be destroyed. With gargantuan effort, the vampire king cast a spell over his subjects, stopping time for those who could never be stopped by time. Tasia and D, being alive, were unaffected by this magic, and it required so much effort that, for a second, the spell holding D in obedience failed. D stared at his father in horror. Dracula looked like a cornered animal, his fangs bared and his eyes gleaming murderously. He would regain his power in a moment. D knew there wasn't a second to lose. He scooped Tasia into his arms and ran. As he fled, he heard his father's laughter behind him.

"D?" Tasia said, her voice shaking with fear. When she had first opened her eyes she had been bewildered, but now that she was more awake, she was frightened. "Where are we?"

"My father's castle. Know the truth, Tasia. My father is a vampire, the strongest that ever was. He wants me to kill you but I won't. I would never hurt you. Do you believe me?"

"D what are you talking about? Put me down, you're frightening me!" D was running down the stairs, towards the door to the inner courtyard… beyond that was the entrance hall and then the door, then the stairs down to the stables…

"I've got to get you out of here. You'll die, Tasia, they'll drink your blood!"

"D! You've gone mad! Stop talking like that- Stop it! D, Stop!"

"I beg of you-- if I was ever your friend- please believe that I want to save your life!"

Tasia was stunned into silence. She realized, suddenly, that she did believe him. D was almost to the door on the other side of the courtyard when his father appeared in front of him. Tasia screamed. D put her down and stepped in front of her, shielding her with his body. "You can't have her," he growled at his father.

"I can't believe I didn't know, that for all these years, you've been… associating… with those people," his father said in cruel amusement. "I was a fool. Of course a human child would seek the companionship of other human children. But the child you found has grown up and left you behind, and is now a mother herself. I saw it all in your thoughts as I unveiled her. You went to dinner at her house this very evening- how ironic! I was in the town, looking for the perfect birthday present for you, and as I passed her house I saw her in the window, heard her telling her children that there aren't any such things as vampires, vampires are a silly made up thing. Why, she was so confident, so assuring, that I doubted my own existence. And she is beautiful, isn't she? The prettiest in the village, in my own opinion. Wouldn't you agree, D? It seems we have a little more in common than our good looks after all- it seems we agree in matters of taste. Or at least I'm sure we _will_, when you finally taste her."

"No. Never."

Dracula laughed again. "Abandon your humanity, D. Free yourself of that weakness!"

"Why?"

"For power! For destiny! There doesn't need to be a reason, you simply MUST do it. You cannot remain in my house as a full-grown dhampir, no one's ever heard of such an absurdity. By now the bloodlust should have awakened by itself. Human food should have lost its flavor; the aroma of blood grown gradually sweeter. The human side of you has already lived far longer than any human ever has- it should be tired of life by now, and the vampire side of you should be screaming for release, for completeness… you are only half of what you ought to be."

"You're right. I _ought_ to be completely human, like my mother!"

His father was silent for a moment. D met his gaze evenly. "Humans are weak," his father said in a low voice. "They suffer. They grieve-"

"So did you, when she died."

"I will always mourn her, D."

"Such a lie offends me. If you loved her, you should have died when she did!"

Dracula stared up into nothingness and almost looked sad. His voice was grave when he spoke. "_I _wished for that… for oblivion. _She_ wished that I remain here, to care for you. Had you gone back to her family, they would have killed you. They would have hurt the human child in you, instead of allowing it to mature as I did, and ultimately they would have hated you, feared you, and destroyed you like a deformed animal. I gave you a human childhood, D. I did so out of love for your mother, and for whatever part of her lived on in you. But that childhood is over. Accept it!"

What his father said made sense. D saw the ugly truth. The human part of him had lived beyond its term. The vampire part of him was supposed to take over now. That was only natural. He felt a twinge in his left palm. Suddenly he felt a surge of hope- he remembered that day in the forest when the parasitic demon had first spoken to him, and told him that he could choose whether to be good or evil. He could choose!

"Never," D said, his voice like steel. "I refuse the power and the destiny you offer. I've made my choice, and I choose to remain a dhampir. I will never kill a human."

Dracula sneered, and his accent, reminiscent of an ancient tongue, grew more pronounced. "You don't _have_ a choice, my son. There are a hundred of our kind waiting for you in the banquet hall. I will not be humiliated in front my guests. You will cooperate, or else this young woman will not be the only one who dies this night. Her children will watch their father shamed and tortured. Her old mother will watch as I drain the blood of the children. And finally, D, _you_ will watch as her old mother dies, you will be right there, and she will think it was _you_ who betrayed them all."

"No!" Tasia shrieked, clutching D's arm. "Oh God, save them!"

D felt the dark energy coiling inside him. He had felt it in the woods years ago when he had killed those wolves, and he had repressed and avoided it ever since. But now he let it fill him, flood him, welcoming the hatred it represented. The weight of it made him crumble to his knees. He glared at his father, his fists trembling at his sides. And suddenly, he couldn't contain the raging forces any longer. It happened in an instant- the dark power surged outward, sending Tasia sprawling, knocking the vampire king to the ground, almost disrupting his control over the time-stopping spell in the banquet hall. D felt dizzy. He couldn't see, he couldn't breathe, and as soon as the incredible destructive tide receded, D collapsed, unconscious.

Dracula thought quickly. He recognized the dark power that D had unleashed, and it amazed him. For an instant he almost felt proud that his son had inherited so much of his father's ability, despite being born from a lowly human. But Dracula realized that D's power presented a huge problem. If he could generate such a fierce storm again, and especially if he figured out how to focus it, he might actually be able to disrupt the time-stopping spell. And with so much of his own mental power devoted to that crucial spell, Dracula wasn't sure if he'd be able to beat D if it came to a fight. He doubted that his now-unconscious son would last more than a few seconds in a real battle, but based on the intensity of what he had just felt, he didn't want to take the chance. Tasia moaned and staggered to her feet. Of course the energy wouldn't have damaged her too badly- she was human, and immune to most raw magic. Magic had to be delicately refined before it would work on humans. Looking at her, the vampire king suddenly realized what he had to do. In the blink of an eye, he was beside her, his arms wrapped around her. "What happened?" she said fearfully.

"Hush now," Dracula said soothingly. "My son has overexerted himself." She stiffened as she realized who held her. "Listen, my dear, your life is over. If you die, I can salvage the mess my son has made. If he had only killed you it would have been so much simpler, but he wants to cling to his human façade a little longer. You were the one who taught him to love being human, weren't you?" She heard his voice but hardly understood his words. Her mind was filled with dread for the fate of her children… but his voice was tranquilizing, rich and smooth like velvet. She felt herself relaxing despite her fears. She gazed up at him with wide searching eyes. Dracula went on, smoothing her hair away from her face with one graceful hand. "If I kill you now, your family will come to no harm. They'll be safe."

"Promise it," Tasia begged. "Swear to me you won't hurt them."

He looked into her eyes. "Child, I swear it."

She felt she could trust him. Everything seemed unreal. She listened to his voice as it rolled on like the waves of a calm sea. "Shut your eyes, and look on into the darkness. You will feel a rush of warmth, and then, soon after, you will feel a growing cold, and it will make you sleepy. Slowly, you'll feel your body grow heavy. Sounds will grow faint and muffled. You'll feel yourself drifting onwards, drifting into death. Let yourself go willingly; melt into the darkness. Embrace it, and travel quickly to whatever lies beyond. Perhaps… a light? …a door?…a forest filled with sunshine? Look for it… begin to dream of it even now."

She was in a trance-like sleep, still standing but leaning heavily against him, her head tilted and resting gently upon his breast, her eyes half open and her hands limp. Dracula couldn't help but admire the moonlight caught in her hair, and the greatest magic of all, the slow steady beating of her heart, which seemed to echo throughout his entire body. How he loved to feel a heartbeat, even though it filled him with terrible thirst. He imagined that was the closest any vampire could ever feel to being alive. He hated and loved the feeling- no matter how many heartbeats he silenced, the thrill and the rush of passion never dulled. Now he was old enough to savor it. He was no longer a slave to his nature. He had mastered the art of being what he was.

D stirred and moaned, and with a slight twinge of annoyance Dracula knew he had to hurry. Despite what he told the girl, he wasn't going to kill her. He _was_ going to keep his promise about sparing her family. But D didn't have to know that.

The vampire king bent his head forward and softly bit into the girl's throat. It was a clean, perfect wound, and he didn't spill a drop of blood. He took just enough from her to ensure that she was just barely beyond saving. Then he scooped her into his arms, walked over to where D was still curled on the ground, and gave the crumpled prince a swift kick.

"Wake up," he said imperiously. "I need you. Wake up."

D sat up and saw the girl sleeping in his father's arms. "No!" he gasped, reaching for her. His father knocked his hand away.

"Listen to me carefully. If you don't cooperate I'll kill those children and look like you while I'm doing it. It's too late for this woman. You don't have to kill her- I've taken care of that bit for you. She's still slightly alive and we're taking her back to the banquet hall. I will put her on the table, you will press your lips to the wound in her neck, and at that instant I'll release our guests from the spell they're under. To them, the past ten minutes were a mere speck of a second. None of them will be any the wiser. Once the deception is complete, you will depart, immediately, without saying a word to anyone. I don't care where you go, but if you ever come back here, you had better have a little more self-control. Or perhaps a different weapon altogether- a sword, perhaps? They're far more reliable than storms of dark magic." Dracula smiled faintly.

"What about Tasia?"

"Tell yourself she is already dead. She will feel no pain; her mind is already drifting through peaceful nothingness." D gazed at her angelic face for a long, sad moment. He didn't want to go along with any plan of his father's, but he was powerless to oppose him. He couldn't challenge the vampire king. He wasn't strong enough. And then his mind filled with thoughts of Tasia- his friend, his beautiful, living friend, with her dancing laughter and ribbons in her hair, an image of happiness now reflected in her beautiful children… children who, like D, had lost their mother. Suddenly burdened by grief, D couldn't think of resisting his father. Tasia, oh, Tasia… he couldn't let those children come to harm. Tasia loved them more than her own life. D would protect them now, no matter what the cost.

Dracula studied his son carefully. He was seeing the boy in a new light. He had grown up after all, found a purpose, and was now acting with maturity. It wasn't what Dracula had expected, but he found he could respect this strange, tormented creature, this dhampir clinging to morality in defiance of destiny. Something about the situation appealed to the old king's sense of humor. He smiled slightly. "Are you ready?"

D nodded grimly in response. He followed his father back up to the banquet hall. When Tasia was laid out again on the table, exactly as she had been, D put his hands on her shoulders and bent down to her neck. _Goodbye_, he said silently. _May you find heaven quickly, and forget you ever knew me_. He spotted the small bloody marks and, trying not to think about it, he carefully pressed his lips to either side. He could smell her hair and her skin- hear her faint heartbeat and shallow breathing- and worst of all, he could smell her blood, sweet and strong. The odor was heavy and oppressing and sharp and tantalizing all at once. It filled his mind with red. In that instant, Dracula released the time-stopping spell. Ignoring the ecstatic approval of the guests, D straightened, looked down at Tasia one last time, and then walked away from the table. He didn't stop walking until he reached the stables. And then he rode off into the darkness.

* * *

A/N: I loved writing Dracula's part in chapter 7- he's such an awesome character! And of course this chapter was a major turning point for D. I managed to creep myself out writing it, so by my standards that means it was a good one. 


	8. Madness

Author's note: Unbelievable! People are actually reading this. I even got a few reviews! Wow… you're all crazy. But I'm crazier. And on that note…

* * *

Chapter 8: Madness

Three days passed before D felt strong enough to visit Tasia's house. He knocked on the door, and immediately old Mrs. Belus opened it, her eyes wet with tears. "God bless you, D. I had a feeling that you were on your way." D noticed the garlic and wild roses hanging around the door. Wreaths of garlic and roses hung also around the windows, three of which were broken.

Samantha and Geoffrey were waiting behind their grandmother. "Have you found Momma?" Geoffrey blurted out.

D shook his head. "I'm sorry," D said, looking down into the boy's eyes.

"Children, leave me alone to talk with Mr. D for a moment, please," Mrs. Belus said wearily, and reluctantly, Samantha took her brother by the arm and headed up the stairs. The old woman turned towards the dhampir imploringly. "I know she's dead, I saw it in a dream."

"It was my fault," D said immediately.

"Nonsense," Mrs. Belus said. "If it had anything to do with you, then it was really I who doomed my daughter on the first day I let you set foot in our house. But it's no use to regret the past. We must think of the future. For the children."

"The children," D repeated.

"Their father's mind is lost," Mrs. Belus said bluntly. She took D's hand and held it tightly. "Two days ago a black carriage arrived. The driver wore a heavy hooded cloak. He handed a parcel and a letter to Richard, who were sick with worry over Tasia." She reached into her apron pocket and pulled out a handsome leather envelope. "Here's the letter. Read it."

D took the envelope and immediately recognized the handwriting.

_To Her Husband:_

_I offer my deepest condolences on the loss of your beautiful bride. She was at peace in the end and drifted into her death as if floating into a dream. Her death was a necessary part of history, marking the beginning of this world's return to natural order. _

_You will grieve for her, but in your grief be comforted by the knowledge that I have sworn to protect you, your daughter, your son, and your mother-in-law, and that none of you will ever suffer the same fate as your beloved wife. It was her last request that I protect her loved ones, and I will honor it. _

_On to practical matters: I have already buried Tasia's body, and commissioned a marble monument for her, which will be delivered in the spring of next year, at which time you and your family will be welcome to visit her gravesite._

_I am also sending, in addition to this letter, a memento of Tasia's exquisite beauty. It is my earnest desire that you should always be able to remember her fondly, and thereby find respite from your sorrow._

_Sincerely,_

_The King of the Vampires_

It was all D could do to stop himself from ripping the paper apart. His hands trembled with fury at the audacity of his father, the obscene cordiality of the letter. How dare he? _Natural order… her last request… welcome to visit_… a memento? What was the memento?

"In the parcel was a portrait of Tasia, the most life-like picture ever to be seen, only, in the picture, she's asleep as though dead. It looks so real, if you stare at it, it seems she'll open up her eyes at any minute, though you start to hope she doesn't. It's beautiful but unnatural- it's so hard to explain!"

"I understand," D said gravely.

"But that wasn't all. When Richard unwrapped the portrait, a smaller bundle fell to the ground. It was a piece of red silk the size of a handkerchief, folded somehow to look like a rose. When Richard picked it up and undid the rose, inside there was a lock of Tasia's hair!" Mrs. Belus fought back her tears. "A perfect golden lock, tied with a red ribbon!" She sobbed into her apron for a moment, sitting down weakly on a kitchen chair. D was at a loss for how to comfort her. His own rage burned, filling his thoughts with violence and revenge. Suddenly Mrs. Belus quelled her emotions. "Richard sat all night staring at the portrait, the little bundle of red silk clutched in his hand. The next day he disappeared. When he finally came back he was covered in dirt and he was in a drunken rage. He said he would kill us. I locked the children in my room and tried to calm him down. He- he burned the portrait, and the Bible, and he smashed the windows with a shovel. He said he'd been trying to dig her up- he'd gone mad!"

"Where is he now?" D asked.

"In the jailhouse! Yesterday he went and bought a rifle, ran out into the street and killed three men! They say he's still ranting about vampires. They think he might have damaged his brain with liquor- but that won't save him from hanging! Oh, D, what can we do?"

* * *

Richard Rowntree sat on the floor of his small cell, crying unabashedly. Suddenly in the darkness on the other side of the bars, a tall shadowy figure appeared. It had entered noiselessly, like a spirit. "Are you Death?" Richard asked loudly, noticing his visitor.

"No. It's D." D stepped closer, and Richard stared up at him with watery, delirious eyes.

"D for Death, Death starts with D," Richard said in a foolish, sing-song voice. "Why have you come here?"

"Tasia," D said, and Richard froze.

"Where is she, D? Where's Tasia? What do you know- do you have her? Did you take her? WAS IT YOU?" He spoke so fast he stumbled over his words, and he tried to get to his feet but fell back down to his knees with an enraged scream. D winced.

"No. But I know what happened to her."

"Happened to her," Richard repeated, and then laughed insanely. "What _happened_ to her! Happened, happened, nothing happened, there's no such thing as vampires. Death to all vampires!"

"So you remember what the letter said."

"The letter from the 'king' of the 'vampires'." He spit angrily. "King of murderers! King of rapists! King of Hell! Kill all the vampires, I say- Kill them all!" His broken voice dissolved into ragged moans. "I see it in my dreams… the lot of them, murdering gypsies all in jewels, having a regular party over her… her… body!"

D felt chilled. It was a fairly accurate description of what had happened. He shook off his memories of that dreadful night and focused on Richard. It seemed the man was somewhat coherent after all, which was good. He figured he had better get down to business. "They're going to hang you tomorrow morning," D said quietly.

"Right you are; and a good thing too. Crime these days! Someone should do something! Harsher punishments; set an example! Kill all the bloody rotten vampires!" Richard nodded his head wildly up and down.

"What about your children?" D asked.

"I have no children."

"Tasia's children."

Richard hung his head and was quiet. His hands curled into fists. "I never want to see them again," he whispered harshly. D felt himself growing angry.

"You would abandon them?"

Richard suddenly seemed overcome by weariness. His eyes seemed to be looking at something far in the distance. He sighed. "Take them away from here," he muttered softly. "Take them to England. In the top drawer of my dresser you'll find the necessary papers. Charles Durthing manages my accounts in York. There's enough money to buy a comfortable house I should think."

D nodded gravely. Richard hadn't lost his mind completely after all. But why didn't he want to live on to care for his children? Didn't he want to see them grow up?

"Richard," D asked after a long moment. "Why did you kill those people?"

"Because… I… _wanted_ to," came the ragged reply, "..to kill the vampires."

"Those people were innocent."

"So was Tasia."

"It was wrong."

Richard's face was livid. He shook and spittle flew from his clenched teeth. "How is it wrong? How is it wrong to hate the world that stole her from me? Vampires! How can it be wrong to hate cruelty, filth and corruption? Kill all vampires. No- it is wrong _not_ to hate them for what they've done. How could God allow the world to be as it is? How could God let her die?" he looked up at D pleadingly.

"I don't know," D said softly.

"I can't tolerate it any longer. That's why I bought that weapon. I had to do something about it. I had to kill them. _I had to change the way the world was or else die trying_."

"That's madness," D said.

"Yes, it is. It's the madness of what it means to be alive; the madness of being human." Breathing heavily, Richard looked up at D. "What will _you_ do?" he asked.

"About what?"

"What will _you _do to change the world? What madness will you undertake?" Richard stared at D with eyes that suddenly seemed to possess immeasurable wisdom. D felt the challenge rising up before him like a terrible wave. He balked. He couldn't answer the challenge.

"I don't know," he admitted at last.

Richard made an odd squealing noise. "Vampires," he chuckled at last. "Vampires!" He laughed, but tears poured from his eyes. He covered his face with his hands, sobbing now. "_Tasia…_" D turned and quickly slipped away, greatly discomfited.

* * *

They took the train the next morning, Richard's documents safely tucked inside D's new coat. He had purchased a new set of traveling clothes and looked completely normal, except perhaps for his wide-brimmed hat. To D's relief, he didn't need to wear the hat inside the train. He set it on the seat next to him and Geoffrey picked it up and put it on his head, and set off to explore the car. Samantha climbed up onto D's lap.

"Why are we going to England?" She asked timidly, as if expecting to be scolded for asking.

"Because it's what your father wanted," D replied truthfully.

"Is he dead like Momma?"

The frankness of her question surprised D. He looked into her warm brown eyes, and wrapped his arms around her. "Yes, he is."

She was quiet for a moment. "When will we tell Geoffrey?" She whispered.

"When we need to, I suppose," D answered. Samantha took a deep, fluttery breath, and then remained still for a long time, her cheek pressed against the fabric of the new traveling coat, a mere layer of fabric away from the papers that guaranteed her future in England. D listened to the rhythmic noisy clanking of the train as it hurried through the countryside. After a while he heard another sound, and it nearly broke his heart as he realized that the little girl in his arms was crying, crying very quietly and very bravely, muffling her sobs against his chest. Mile after mile flew by. Finally she looked up at D, fiercely wiping her bleary eyes.

"I hope we never tell him, never," she said, and buried her face once more in D's coat, sobbing harder than before.

* * *

A/N: Man, that was a tough chapter. But the next chapter is another of my favorites. It actually got out of control and became its own 12-page story, but then I decided I had to cut it down and keep this a Vampire Hunter D story, NOT a World War One story. Anyway, all the historical facts coming up in chapt 9 are correct. 


	9. Fortune of War

Chapter 9: Fortune of War

Ypres, Belgium 1915

It was the middle of the afternoon and D slept peacefully on the muddy wooden pallet, covered by a muddy woolen blanket, unaware that the sergeant was hovering over him. The old sergeant tried not to take any special notice of the young conscripts, but he couldn't help but notice D. He'd been watching the tall, pale young man from the moment he'd marched in carrying more gear than a mule. In the sergeant's opinion, D was the perfect soldier- he was incredibly strong and athletic, he obeyed instantly, he never complained. But there was something unnerving about him- the sergeant couldn't quite put his finger on it. He knew that some of the other boys were actually scared of D, but not the sergeant. He'd forgotten how to be afraid a long time ago. But the way D stood so perfectly still- why, next to him, trees would look downright fidgety. Maybe that was why he was such a good spy- that, and the fact that he spoke German flawlessly.

The sergeant tapped D's shoulder. "Sorry to wake you, my boy, but I'm sending you out again tonight." D nodded and sat up immediately. "You're going over to the French Algerian division. Make sure you check in with the Lieutenant when you're ready." The sergeant turned and stalked off down the trench, looking for lazy soldiers to scold. D tied the laces on his mud-caked boots.

It was April 22, 1915. D had been on the front lines in France for four months. After settling Mrs. Belus and the children into their new home, D had decided to try to integrate himself into human society. And that was how he wound up fighting the Germans in Ypres Salient on the France/Belgium border, making almost daily raids into No-Man's Land. D had lived for a century and a half, yet he had never seen or imagined anything like the violence and carnage of the war. There were times when he started to doubt if humans were any better than vampires after all, especially when the machine guns opened up. The smell of blood constantly permeated the air and D was sickened by it. Not once during the war did the smell of blood appeal to the dhampir.

* * *

D walked softly along the edge of a crater formed by an artillery blast. The earth was soft and D moved without a sound. He caught a glimpse of his reflection in the murky puddle at the bottom of the crater, and realized that a second face was staring up at him: a dead man lay on his back just inches below the surface of the polluted water, his skin white and his eyes wide open. D looked closer and realized it was only half a man- the unfortunate soldier had been torn in two just below his ribs. D walked on. The German lines were barely five hundred yards away. Here and there on the ground were mangled and decaying body parts- an arm, a hand, a leg, a pile of rotting intestines that had fallen from a recovered corpse. Suddenly D heard artillery fire begin from behind the German lines.

"Here we go again," D's hand said, distinctly aggravated. "I swear, I wish I possessed your foot instead of your lousy hand, so I could help you run away at times like this. Come on, D! We gotta get out of here! What are you doing?" D was staring in the direction of the French trenches. The artillery shells were already raining down, and the German guns continued to blast. Where the shells hit the earth, strange yellow clouds were beginning to form over the mottled landscape. The yellow smoke curled and flowed in streams, pouring into the craters and down into the trenches. D had never seen anything like this. Faintly, D heard the first cries of urgent terror from the French troops. D sprinted towards them. "Oh, wonderful, just perfect- run _towards_ the danger, what a good idea!" the hand complained loudly. Then it made a snuffling noise. "-What?" it gasped. "That- that smell- what is it? What's going on? Let me see, let me see!" D's hand twitched and strained and D held it up in front of him, palm out.

"That smoke," D said, not breaking his stride.

The demon in his hand made a horrible rasping hissing noise. "That's… it's unbelievable- this is unprecedented- that's poison, D! They're mad, D, they're insane! Don't get close to it! Get out of here, get out of the whole damn war! Don't you see? They'll do anything to kill each other- even this! Get away from it, it's poisonous, it's deadly!"

D didn't reply. The thick yellow haze was seeping towards him. He heard people screaming and cursing just ahead through the smoke, and also much worse sounds of people choking and dying. D came to a halt at the edge of a trench. The thick smoke had filled the trench and was already burning D's eyes and throat. He caught a glimpse of a man crawling along the bottom of the trench blindly, coughing and retching horribly. Further ahead, people were struggling up out of the trenches and running in all directions, stumbling, firing their weapons, collapsing in the soft dirt and gasping for air, only to swallow more of the poison. D jumped down into the trench. The crawling man was curled up on his side now, dead. D ran down the trench, the gas searing his eyes. He could barely see the foggy outlines of crumpled bodies. He could hear the last of the cylinders impacting the earth and releasing their poison. D found a man who was still alive and bent down to scoop him up. He slung the man over his shoulder and went on. Suddenly D realized that the gas was affecting his ability to breathe. He choked and gasped, squeezing his eyes shut. He heard rather than saw another soldier struggling for air ahead on his left. D hefted him up onto his other shoulder and staggered forward. "What are you doing?" his hand shouted in growing alarm. "You can't waste time saving these people- you're going to die any minute now yourself! You have to get up above the smoke! Up!"

D obeyed and with inhuman strength he hauled himself and the two other soldiers up over the side of the trench. But the cloud of gas was still surrounding them. D began to cough violently, something he'd never experienced before, and his lungs began to burn, causing him terrible pain. His body shuddered, wanting air. There was a crater just ahead where about a dozen Algerian soldiers had gathered in their frantic escape. Apparently the gas had missed this area initially, leaving it as a sort of sunken island in the first few moments, but now the deadly yellow smoke was creeping in from all sides, leaving no escape for the men. Already they were gasping and sputtering, vomiting and choking, stumbling about in blind panic. Some ran off into the smoke. One ran back towards the trench he'd abandoned mere minutes earlier and tumbled over the edge into the yellow cloud below. Hideous, agonized sounds came from all around, their sources obscured by the smoke. D fell to his knees, needing air. The men he had tried to rescue tumbled to the ground beside him. "You idiot!" His hand accused. "You _know_ you need to breathe! You've been breathing your whole life, what made you think you could stop now?" D was suffering like the humans now, making muffled moaning noises as he fought for air, poisoning himself further with each strangled gasp. D collapsed on the ground, twitching. His ashen face pressed into the mud, his fangs bared and eyes shut tightly, D began to die.

"oh God," groaned the hand. "You're in a bad spot this time. I hoped it wouldn't come to this." The mouth of the shriveled face opened wide, and then wider, and with a loud windy roar a swirling vortex of air formed and was sucked through the demon's mouth into nothingness! The cloud of gas in the immediate area began to diminish immediately, being sucked away in the air swirling down into the mouth in D's palm. Within a few seconds all the gas within a hundred-yard radius of D was gone- sucked away. The demon snapped its mouth shut and scowled, and then gazed up reproachfully at D's grey face with its empty black eyes. "You lucky bastard," the demon mumbled in a somewhat affectionate tone. "You have to admit, you're amazingly fortunate to have somebody like me around to save your hide once in a while."

D began to breathe the clean air and his lungs began to heal. It was too late for half of the people around him, but at least a few of them would survive. D gulped a few more breaths down through his open mouth and then clenched his teeth and grunted. He pressed his palms flat against the damp earth and weakly pushed himself up into a sitting position. He was alive.

* * *

D was one of about 2,000 prisoners taken by the Germans that evening after the first poison gas attack of the war. Late that night, when it seemed like most of the other prisoners around him were asleep, D stared down at the palm of his left hand. He coughed as the demon's wrinkled face formed, grinning hideously. "What did you do?" D rasped.

The face looked annoyed. "Is that any way to thank me for saving your life?" it asked gruffly. D began to cough again and the demon waited for him to finish. "I tried to tell you not to--" the hand began, but was interrupted by coughing again. "Serves you right," it muttered as D's chest heaved. "Maybe next time you'll listen to me. And you ought to be thanking your good fortune that I was able to save you this time."

"But how did you do it?" D asked in a ragged whisper.

"You don't realize how fortunate you are that I happen to have this particular talent. I can swallow things. I simply sucked up all the poison. And it tasted incredibly foul."

"Where did it go?"

"You mean the poison? Who knows! It's gone for good, that's all I can say for sure. In the past I've had to clean up evil magic and dark energy and that sort of thing. But if I have to, I can get rid of tangible things too, like the gas that nearly killed you today."

"You can get rid of anything?" D asked incredulously.

"Of course there are limits. For example, I draw the line at living creatures. Better make that _large _creatures. You want me to swallow a ghost? No problem. But a cow or a zombie or something like that? No way."

"Why didn't you tell me this before?"

"What good would it have done you?"

D's brain sputtered. He could think of countless times when he would have wanted some evil magic swallowed up. "The gathering of aristocrats at my father's castle," he said. "My father had me under some kind of spell. You could have helped me then."

"I don't think so," the hand said gruffly. "That was intense, firmly grounded magic. I can tell that you don't understand what I'm talking about. But I bet over the next century or so you'll develop an instinct for when I can help you and when I can't."

D was silent for a moment. "Where did you come from, anyway?" D asked at last.

The demon face grinned. "That's a story for another day," it said, and disappeared.

* * *

D spent more than ten months as a prisoner in Germany. One day D decided he had been a prisoner long enough. He stole some civilian clothes and escaped, intending to make his way back to Ypres. Just outside the prison camp was a muddy road heading southwest. Several miles down that road D began to encounter overturned carts half-sunk in the mud, mangled human bodies, scattered supplies and broken equipment, dead horses and mules with bloated bellies and stiffened limbs, tongues hanging from their mouths. D walked past it all impassively, until he heard a plaintive sound from behind one of the broken wagons. Stopping to investigate, D discovered the one creature that had survived the attack on the convoy: a young, exhausted horse, trapped in the mud and harnessed alongside a dead mule. Judging from the state of the corpses all around, D guessed that the horse had been trapped there for two days, but it was not beyond saving. He picked up a shovel.

Two nights later he rode into a small town and got a room for himself at the only inn. He paid extra to make sure that the horse would have its fill of hay to eat. While he was there he learned of the latest events in the war: the Germans had sent a million men to attack Verdun. On February 21st, 1916, the battle began with nine hours of continuous artillery bombardment. The next day the Germans began using new weapons called flamethrowers. On February 25th the Germans captured Fort Douaumont, one of the two main fortresses, but the French weren't going to give up Verdun, despite being badly outnumbered. The land was nothing but mud everywhere, and thousands of men had been buried alive by the relentless artillery. The death toll on both sides was incredible. The most recent news was that yesterday, March 2nd, the Germans had attacked the other fort, Fort Vaux. D made up his mind: he would go to Verdun.

* * *

On March 6th, in the middle of a blizzard, D arrived at Verdun. At dawn on March 8th, D found himself in a formation, holding a rifle, walking steadily towards a patch of snowy woods filled with German machine guns. The guns opened up and men fell screaming all around. D gritted his teeth and almost lost his balance as three bullets tore through his stomach. Several steps later, the bullet wounds were completely healed. The woods were about 200 yards away. The French regiment continued forward, stepping over and around the dead and wounded. A hundred yards away from the wood, D heard the command to fix bayonets. For a few seconds he studied the sharp blade at the end of his rifle, curiously drawn to the cold gleam of the steel. Suddenly the men all around him were running forward, running into the woods. D ran too, right up to a German machine gun. The gun fired, spitting bullets at him. D rushed past the weapon and brought his bayonet to the throat of the young German gunner. The German was stunned. So was D. _Now what?_ His heart pounded furiously. Would he kill this German, this human? Scenes from the past year flew through his mind. He remembered the trenches and the bodies and the clouds of poison gas. He remembered the gruesome deaths he'd witnessed. And slowly he drew back his weapon.

In that instant a French soldier charged up beside D and drove his bayonet through the young German's throat. The boy slumped to the ground, blood erupting from his neck and mouth as the bayonet was wrenched free. "Come on!" the Frenchman screamed savagely to D, running ahead, looking for another target. But D stood still, listening to the screams and the sound of battle all around him. He looked down at the boy at his feet, bleeding brightly onto the dull frozen ground. D turned his face to the sky and watched the indifferent snowflakes fluttering down. A vast, powerful sorrow wrapped broken wings around his heart. Someone shouted ecstatically that the Germans were retreating.

It was a victory.

* * *

Although he honestly didn't know what compelled him to stay, D remained at Verdun throughout the bloody spring and summer. He participated in almost every action, but he never once ended a human life. Instead, he worked diligently to save as many as he could. He gained a reputation for being able to sense where a live man had been buried, and rescued dozens of soldiers who would have suffocated otherwise. By the end of August, 400 _thousand_ men had died at Verdun. Verdun was one huge morbid graveyard.

D gazed passively at that moonlit graveyard now, leaning against a ruined wall of Fort Douaumont. His eyes, once blue, were now grey and lifeless. "Hmmm… for once nobody's shooting," D's hand observed. "It's almost unnerving, isn't it? But I'm sure they'll start up again soon and put us all back at ease. Any minute now." D ignored the sarcastic comment, surveying the battlefield calmly. "D, what are we still doing here? You're not helping them win, you know. The only way anybody's going to win is when one side runs out of people. Haven't you realized that yet? I'm telling you, this is-"

"-Madness," D supplied. The hand faltered.

"Yes, madness, exactly," it said. D sighed. "All right," the demon urged. "Tell me what's going through your crazy tortured brain."

"Something Richard Rowntree said," D admitted. He closed his eyes. "…about the madness of being human. I didn't understand him then."

"But you do now?" the hand asked hopefully. "If so, that's great, because then we can finally get out of here! Lesson learned: people are crazy. Time to move on."

D opened his eyes and stared out blankly at the corpse-riddled, cratered landscape. "I think I understand the madness. But there's got to be something else, and I need to know what it is."

"Something else?" the hand repeated, sounding offended. "For God's sake, _what?_ Friendship or love or something like that? Hope or faith or joy, something like that? Because if _that's _what you're looking for, I can tell you for certain that you're NOT going to find it _here_. This is the very doorstep of hell! Look around, D. Look at those _bodies_- legs, helmets, hands,"

"Wolves," D said.

"-wolves?" the hand asked, changing its tone. Two of the shaggy animals were racing over the ravaged land, heading directly for the fort. As they got closer D could see that one of them was wearing a harness with a sort of pouch attached to one side. Within minutes the wolves were circling D, growling. Then suddenly they both yelped, and stood paralyzed, their fur standing on end. Their eyes began to glow red. And then they spoke.

"Your father sends his greetings," the wolves growled in unison. "We've brought you a message. Read it." Wordlessly, D opened the pouch on the wolf's harness and removed a thin leather envelope. With another yelp, the light in the wolves' eyes went out. The animals shook themselves as if dazed, and then, with a mistrustful look at D, they turned tail and fled the way they had come.

"This ought to be interesting," D's hand grumbled. "Come on, let's see what it says." D opened the envelope and read:

_Dearest Son:_

_I have been keeping track of you and I am surprised that you have chosen to remain involved with the war. As you have doubtlessly noticed, the war is progressing wonderfully. Unfortunately I cannot reveal my plans to you in your present state. But perhaps the ugliness of war will finally strip you of your fondness for humanity, so that you can join me as I restore the power of our race._

_Anyway I must get on to matters of business. Since you turned the legal age, you are entitled to the equivalence of an 'inheritance'. Exactly half of everything that belongs to me is rightfully yours now, and for me to keep it for myself would look suspicious. In the interest of maintaining the pretense that you've assumed your proper identity, I am giving you your inheritance. _

_In addition to all preexisting treasure and accumulated funds, the war has been incredibly profitable for me thus far. Therefore I am turning over to you a considerable fortune, and I'm curious to see what you'll do with it. As a sign of our supposed cooperation, I will send you half of all my profits henceforth. Your fortune is waiting for you at Chantil castle._

_To ensure that you retrieve your inheritance in a timely manner, I have taken the liberty of eliminating the bank accounts of the late Richard Rowntree. If you don't help them, that woman's surviving family will be evicted from their lovely home and will be living on the streets by next Wednesday. _

_Sincerely,_

_Your Father_

D folded up the letter and was quiet for a moment. "That's pretty low of him, to blackmail you by threatening those poor kids again," D's hand remarked.

"It's Thursday," D said softly. "We have 6 days to find Chantil castle and get back to England." Without another word, D went and saddled his horse.

* * *

A/N: Can you tell how that chapter was supposed to be so much longer? Verdun was unbelievable. Someday I will go there. I'd like to tour lots of WWI battlefields, actually… but especially Verdun. The bayonet charge through the snowy woods really happened- it's one of my favorite WWI moments. Lt. Col. Macker led the charge- he was a real old-school Napoleonic-style badass. Sadly, Macker was machine-gunned to death only two days later… anyway the next chapter was tough to write but it had to be in there to set us up for the next fun part. 


	10. Departures

Chapter 10: Departures

York, England 1925

It was a bitterly cold, grey, January day. D stood like a statue, his wide-brimmed hat held respectfully in his hands. Across the gaping, freshly-dug grave stood the 17-year-old Samantha, sorrowfully elegant in a fashionable black dress, purchased, like every other material thing in her life, with D's money. Samantha studied the somber expression of the tall, pale-skinned man. For ten years she had thought of him as a sort of mysterious uncle… he would appear at Christmastime or perhaps for a week in the summer, and then he would leave again, off to manage an unspecified yet obviously lucrative business in London. He had been the only one that Mrs. Belus had allowed at in the room during the final moments of her life, but with her ear pressed fervently against the door Samantha had heard their conversation.

* * *

"It's the end now, dearest," Mrs. Belus had gasped. 

"I know." D's gentle reply was almost inaudible.

"I'll go on to Tasia in a bit. We… we never visited her monument," Mrs. Belus wheezed. "the one the …king… built for her…"

_King?_ Samantha thought, frowning worriedly. _What king?_ Was her grandmother delusional? There had been no previous sign that her illness had affected her sensibility.

Old Mrs. Belus went on: "promise me you'll visit it… surely you can find the time… one of these centuries, eh?"

Samantha almost smiled, despite the sad weight growing in her heart. Even at the brink of death, her cheerful, kind-hearted grandmother could make a joke.

D was quiet for a long minute. "So you know. I should have told you everything long ago. Forgive me." It was a sincere, heartbroken plea.

An expression of confusion passed over Samantha's face. What was D talking about? Desperately curious, she held her breath, and slowly crouched down so she could peep through the keyhole. D was standing beside the bed, gazing quietly down at the dying woman. Samantha watched as he hesitantly reached for her grandmother's withered, spotted hand. She strained to hear his words.

"It was my father who killed her," he said softly. "I watched as she slipped away, and I couldn't save her."

Old Mrs. Belus moaned quietly. Samantha bit her lip, near to tears now at the sound of her grandmother's suffering.

"I forgive you," the old woman rasped. "As does Tasia, be sure of it…"

Through her own tears, Samantha saw D's broad shoulders quiver, and he lowered his head, grieving. "Now, now… child… don't cry now… all is well... God bless you, D…"

Another moment passed, and the sound of her grandmother's strained breathing grew faint. D stood immobile at her side, and then, slowly, he went down on his knees. Still holding the old woman's hand, he pressed his forehead against the bed, his slumped posture one of defeat and desolation. Samantha gasped- suddenly she knew that her grandmother had died.

* * *

Now they were lowering the coffin into the earth. Samantha didn't even glance at it- she was utterly preoccupied by staring at D, wondering once again about the circumstances of her parents' deaths. She vaguely remembered being introduced to D at the train station, remembered her mother saying something about him coming back from the dead. At times, she had wanted to blame D for what had happened to her parents, but her grandmother always admonished her for such thoughts, and assured her that D had nothing to do with it. But D had been their benefactor ever since, and Samantha felt certain that there was more to the story. 

Samantha studied D from across the grave, which was now slowly being filled with earth. It occurred to her that the mystery surrounding D was somewhat like an empty pit, a great hole in the story of her life. Why was this tall, solemn young man involved with their family? She caught herself and frowned slightly. _Young_ man? Shouldn't he be… nearly 40 now, if he'd been a childhood playmate of her mother's? She let her gaze drift back to his smooth, handsome face. He looked the same as he always had, only for once he wasn't wearing his hat… and suddenly Samantha realized that he looked only as old as she did!

D felt the girl watching him with questions brimming in her brandy-brown eyes. He knew she had been eavesdropping on his final conversation with her grandmother, and he wondered if he should ever appease her curiosity. It seemed to D that Samantha and Geoffrey had grown up in barely two blinks… wasn't it better for them to live their short lives unaware of certain painful, horrible truths? D raised his eyes and met the girl's stare. He expected her to look away, but instead she went on staring, as if determined to see to the bottom of his soul. Surprised, D found that he couldn't look away either. The girl looked exactly like her mother, the only difference being that her hair was a shade darker, more chestnut than gold. It curled loosely over her shoulders, partially drawn back and tied with a black ribbon.

Another sudden realization made Samantha's stomach flutter oddly, and she averted her eyes, blushing faintly. It was definitely inappropriate for her to have such thoughts about a man she thought of as an uncle, and a man who had to be at least twice her age despite his appearance… but she couldn't deny that D had the most beautiful face she had ever seen, and with his broad shoulders and long black coat, he cut a most impressive figure against the dull grey sky beyond the graveyard.

* * *

Late the following night, a beleaguered D arrived at his residence in London. Mrs. Belus had been like a mother to him, and her death weighed heavily in his heart. D hung up his hat and coat by the door, and sat on the only chair in his tiny one-room flat. Wearily he took his boots off, and without bothering to undress further, he climbed into bed. His mind was full of concern for Samantha and Geoffrey, who had been orphaned afresh. Geoffrey would be off to school in another week or so- D had already taken care of the tuition- but Samantha had finished school and would now remain at home. D felt vaguely uncomfortable thinking about her, but she dominated his thoughts. She had grown up so fast. D still wanted to see her as a little child, yet there she was, tall and slender, graceful and beautiful, and so much like Tasia. She was a seedling that had blossomed into a lily overnight.

* * *

She had assaulted him with questions after the funeral. 

"Mr. D…" she had said, gathering her courage. D put down his fork and gazed passively at her across the dinner table. She met his eyes and D was struck by how vibrant and full of life she seemed, her eyes shining as if with their own warm, pure light. "Perhaps this is silly of me, but I've been wondering… you've provided for us ever since our parents died, and, well, we don't even know your full name."

"It's just D," D replied.

"But how can that be? Haven't you got a last name, or, if that's your last name, what is your first name? We've called you 'Mr. D' all our lives, but…"

"Your grandmother instructed you to call me that," D said kindly. "But now that you're both grown up, you can just call me D if you like."

Samantha blinked a few times, and then tried again, with fresh determination.

"Very well… but you must admit that it's quite mysterious to have only one letter for a name. I've also been wondering where exactly we lived before our parents died."

Geoffrey looked up from his plate, equally curious. D looked back and forth between them. "Your grandmother never told you?" he asked.

Samantha shook her head. "Never a word. She never spoke about mother and father, or our life before we came to England, except to reassure us that our parents loved us and were smiling down from heaven."

"I can't hardly remember our parents at all," Geoffrey spoke up. "But I do wonder about them from time to time. I remember the church and the train station, and that Father smashed the windows of the house with a shovel. But I can't even remember his face."

It struck D how sad it was for glass shattered in crazed anguish to be the boy's only memory of the father who had loved him.

"Please, D… won't you at least tell us where we lived back then?" Samantha entreated.

D sat for another moment in silence as Samantha and Geoffrey stared at him hopefully.

"Transylvania," D replied at last, with a slight sense of misgiving. Both pairs of warm brown eyes widened, enthralled with this completely unexpected bit of information. Such a strange-sounding, medieval, foreign land! They weren't even entirely sure of where they might find it on a map.

Quickly the girl regained her composure. "Transylvania," she breathed. "Isn't that Romania now? And are you… well, I'm sure this will sound like a silly question, but- could it be that you have some connections with royalty there?"

D felt instantly chilled. He knew it was an innocent question- his great wealth was no secret to them, although its origin had never been explained. D didn't want to answer more questions. He stood abruptly, bumping the table as he did so in a rare departure from his usual gracefulness.

"Oh, please don't take offense," Samantha implored anxiously. "I'm sorry if my question bothered you. But can't you understand our curiosity? We don't know anything at all about you, or about our parents' deaths!"

D gazed at her coldly. "You know who killed your mother," he said quietly. Samantha stared at D, betrayed. How did he know she had been listening at the door?

Geoffrey's hands clenched into fists almost unconsciously, and fear overcame his young face. "Was it you?" the boy asked, almost too willing to believe that D had been the murderer.

"Tell him what you overheard," D said. Samantha looked over at her brother, and drew a ragged breath.

"Geoffrey, as Grandmother lay dying I… overheard her and D talking… and D revealed to her that it was… his _father_… who killed our mother."

"Why didn't you tell me?" Geoffrey asked his sister, aghast.

"I was hoping D would tell us the whole story," Samantha admitted, looking back at D's downcast eyes.

"No," D said, lowering himself back into his seat. He tried to eat the rest of his dinner. He could feel Samantha's emotions rising. At last the anger overflowed.

"Why won't you tell us?" she demanded furiously. "Who is your father? Has he gone unpunished all this time? And why are you involved, anyway? What are you keeping secret? Was our mother in love with you?"

D had expected this outburst, and he made no reply. With angry tears flooding her eyes, Samantha excused herself to her room.

"I'm sorry that she--" Geoffrey began awkwardly, but D cut him off.

"It's alright," he said calmly. "It's only natural, and I'm sorry I can't tell her the truth. But it is better for you not to know."

Geoffrey had nodded solemnly.

* * *

The boy was the rational, introspective sort, thought D, lying on his bed in London. But Samantha, she had always been imaginative, restless, and high-strung. What would she do now, sitting alone in that large house, with no one but the few servants to talk to? Human lives were so short, and all too often, sad. D covered his eyes with his left hand, wishing the demon that lived there was able to suck worries out of his brain the way it had sucked poison out of the air. Feeling regretful and cold, D sank slowly into sleep.

* * *

Months passed without word from Samantha. Geoffrey wrote occasionally, and D was pleased to see that he was earning good marks at school. But there was never any mention of Samantha. D sent money and books and various packages on a regular basis as he always had. Before long it was summer again, and then fall. And then one day a letter came from Geoffrey.

_D-_

_The police have been of no help. Samantha has disappeared._

_I suspect she has left the country, for she has been saving _

_money diligently these past few months, even selling things_

_from the house. Now she is gone, without a trace, and so it is in desperation that I write. _

_I have never doubted your devotion towards my family, even_

_though I have never known the reason behind it. I trust that _

_you will know what to do. _

_I am powerless and I fear for her. Please help. _

_Sincerely,_

_Geoffrey Rowntree_

Immediately D scribbled his reply:

_I will find her_.

And then, stuffing some money and spare clothing into a bag, he hurried out, not even bothering to close his door behind him.

* * *

A/N: Ack! Chapter 10 was pretty weak, wasn't it? I just realized that it ended just like chap. 9… D gets a letter and rushes off to save the day. Sigh. This is how I know I'm not a good writer after all… I don't even realize this kind of huge blunder until months after I write it… groan. 


	11. la nuit de Paris

Chapter 11: _la nuit de Paris_

Paris, France 1925

D felt the cold presence while it was still a long way off. He stiffened, recognizing the otherworldly aura for what it was, and wondered if he ought to change his course. At a loss, he continued walking forward along the busy avenue. The cold November wind tugged at the tails of his coat. He felt mildly annoyed with the people bustling around him. Of course they didn't realize the danger that was right in their midst. They were completely oblivious; they always were. And then he felt angry that the creature was out here in the open, out here where people were constantly in motion, here on the street in the heart of the city.

D raised his eyes and scanned the dimly-lit street ahead of him. He had no problem recognizing the dark form that moved just a little more smoothly than the rest of the pedestrians. The graceful stranger was well-dressed, and even from such a considerable distance D could see that its face was unnaturally pale… for a human, but of course, a human it was not.

What was a vampire doing strolling about the streets of Paris so comfortably, as if he were right at home? D smoldered with animosity.

The elegant, pale-faced figure drew closer, seeming to glide over the ground. When he was about a block away he picked up his head suddenly, and D knew that his own presence had been recognized by the stranger. The vampire immediately locked eyes with D, and smiled knowingly at him. The unspoken message was clear enough: _Good evening, my brother_.

D felt simultaneously insulted and ashamed. Apparently this evil creature walked as freely and inconspicuously among the humans as D himself, and D was distinctly uncomfortable with that fact. Futilely he wished it were daytime, so that the creature would be banished from the street. Although he himself had been a part of human society for barely a decade, D felt strongly protective of any and all people he came into contact with. Human society was _his _exclusive territory now, and he didn't want any vampires to intrude upon it. As the vampire approached him, he winked one of his ruby-like eyes, and muttered "happy hunting."

* * *

"You're so naïve, it's _baffling_," grumbled D's hand. D had traced Samantha as far as Paris, but her trail disappeared in the city. He had been searching the streets for four days. Now he was back in his hotel room, holding a pen in his right hand and attempting to write an encouraging note to Geoffrey, even though there was still no sign of Samantha.

"I mean, you were actually _surprised_ to find vampires existing cozily here in the city!" The hand said, exasperated. Idly D wondered if he could learn to write with his left hand- maybe then it would cease its commentary while he was trying to put words together.

"You actually thought they all lived in _castles_!" accused the hand, as if mocking a child.

D sighed slightly. "I lived in London for nine years and never saw one," he reasoned quietly.

"Hah! You mean you lived in that tiny _closet_ in London for nine years," the demon scoffed. "You never once went out on the town at night, no matter how I tried to persuade you. If you hadn't been in bed at eight like an old man every night, you probably would have found hordes of vampires right there in London. But no, you had to come all the way over here to get angry about _Parisian _vampires. I'm still completely shocked, shocked beyond words-"

"I wish," D grunted, but the demon ignored him.

"-at your reaction to the fellow in the street tonight. I thought you were about to tear his head off- right in front of all those people! Getting so emotional was totally uncalled for."

D stared at the blank piece of paper in front of him.

"He thought I was one of them," D said softly. Although he didn't feel like discussing it with his possessed hand, being mistaken for a vampire had stung a lot worse than D would have expected. Was his human side invisible to blood-colored eyes?

"Aw, well, don't take it so hard," the hand said, this time in a grudgingly sympathetic tone. "After all, heh, humans think you're human, and really all that matters in the end is what you think of yourself, right?"

D didn't answer.

* * *

Two weeks passed, and the weather got progressively worse. D had familiarized himself with the city, and used every method he could think of to track down information, but it was to no avail. Samantha had vanished into the city like a drop of water into a lake. The city was alive with art and literature and romance- artists and poets gathered there like flies to honey, and there was no city on earth quite as spectacular. Alcohol and ideas flowed freely. It was a city of fashion, beauty, and extravagance. It was a city of seduction. And it was infested with vampires. D found it all very depressing, but he knew instinctively that Paris was irresistibly appealing to a girl like Samantha.

D stood at the window of his fourth-floor hotel room, gazing out impassively over the lights of the city. Music drifted up from restaurants and bars in the street below. Somewhere a car horn blared, and someone cussed drunkenly in French. She was out there somewhere, he was certain of it. Maybe tonight, he would find her.

D stiffened as he became aware of an evil aura somewhere below him- a vampire, though not a very strong one, was looking up at him from across the street. The young vampire was holding a camera. Smiling, he raised it and took a picture of D at his window. D frowned at him, perplexed. "Why did you do that?" he asked quietly, knowing that the vampire would be able to hear him above the noise of the city.

The young vampire chuckled. "_C'est pour saisir la nuit de Paris_," he replied in a voice as soft as D's. "To seize the Paris night."

"Looks like another loony vampire poet," muttered the demon. "Interesting accent, though. Hungarian, maybe?"

The vampire was staring up at D, still smiling. "May I speak with you, monsieur?" he asked. D thought about it for half a minute, and nodded.

* * *

Half an hour later, D and the young vampire were walking side-by-side through the deserted Parc Monceau. The night was cold and overcast, but neither of them seemed to mind. For a long while neither spoke.

"Don't you _love_ the night, monsieur?" the vampire whispered at last. D made no reply. The vampire gazed dreamily into the shadows. "'_C'est pour saisir la beauté des rues, des jardins, dans la pluie et le brouillard…_it isbecause I love the beauty of these roads and parks at night, in the rain and mist… I wanted to become a vampire because the night is so beautiful. The darkness _suggests_ rather than shows… and the night liberates the forces within us that during the day are dominated by reason." He smiled, and D couldn't help but notice how very nearly human the expression seemed.

"Who are you?" D asked gruffly.

"Call me Brassai," the vampire said. "I am from Brasso, Transylvania. I take photographs of the night."

D was far from surprised. "Transylvania," D said, remembering Samantha's reaction. "Isn't that Romania now?"

The vampire shrugged, and the gesture served as further evidence that he had been human until quite recently. "Someday perhaps they will come up with a way to change names of places without the slaughter of millions… but probably not. However- I digress. I am here to invite you to join our society."

"Society," D repeated, slightly suspicious. He'd never had much of an appetite for politics. "What are you, communists? Socialists?"

"No, no, monsieur," Brassai chuckled. "Nothing radical. We are just vampires. If you desire to remain in our city, you _must_ join our society, and follow the rules laid out by our Great Ancestor."

"Great Ancestor?"

"The King of the Vampires, of course. Several of my literary-minded friends have decided it's more appropriate to call him our Great Ancestor. I suppose I'll have to read their dull history books to figure out why."

D almost wanted to roll his eyes. The absurdity of what he was hearing was almost unfathomable. Great Ancestor. Vampire Society. What was this rubbish?

"As I was saying," Brassai went on, sounding almost excited, "the society is an ingenious system for controlling the populace. We can't have vampires like us running about killing people at will, now, can we? The rules provide-"

"I have no desire to remain in this city, so I'm afraid I won't be joining you," D said brusquely.

"oh," Brassai was taken aback. "But then… why are you here?"

"I'm looking for a girl," D said, glad that they were finally getting down to important matters.

Brassai blinked. "A specific girl?"

"Her name is Samantha Rowntree. She came from England about three weeks ago. As soon as I find her, I will leave."

Brassai smiled again. "I know many girls in this city monsieur. One day I hope to know them all. With the help of the Society, I am sure I can locate this girl for you."

* * *

"You're _insane_," D's hand told him for the hundredth time. "I may not have fully understood what just happened… but I _think_ you just employed a _society_ of _vampires_ to hunt down your missing sweetheart!"

"You're wrong," D growled.

"Well thank goodness! So what just hap-"

"She's not my 'sweetheart'," D said darkly.

"Whatever. But you actually commissioned a pack of vampires to go look for her? That's insane, D. Insane!"

D was back in his hotel room, with still more than an hour until dawn. There was a knock at the door. D opened it and was not at all surprised to see a sleepy-looking maid standing there.

"I beg of your pardon, sir," she said with a velvety accent. "But zee gentleman from dis evening, he have for you a message." She held up an envelope. D thanked her for it, and quickly read the note, which was scrawled in dark red ink.

"Have they actually found her?" his hand asked, just before D balled the paper up in his fist, and headed out the door.

* * *

It angered D that he had walked past the bordello half a dozen times without even once thinking to look inside. The demon in his hand was right- he was naïve. He had looked everywhere except the one place she had ended up. The thought of beautiful, innocent Samantha in such a filthy place filled him with terrible emotions- mostly, he was furious with himself for not finding her sooner. She was only ten blocks away from his hotel!

D practically tore the door off its hinges. There were two middle-aged ladies in the sitting room, and they both eyed him critically. They were the only women ever to notice that he looked rich before they noticed how handsome he was.

"Looking for some company, are you?" one of them asked, smirking.

"Her name's Samantha. Where is she?" D asked coldly. The women exchanged looks.

"I think we can fix you up with someone nicer than _that_," the other woman said.

"No. Where is she?" D growled.

The women rolled their eyes. They certainly weren't afraid of rough, angry men. At least this one wasn't ugly. "To tell you the truth, she's with another customer right at the moment, so you'll have to wait a bit," the first woman said indifferently.

D closed his eyes and focused. He thought he felt a familiar human presence somewhere on the second floor- and with it, a faint yet unmistakable dark presence of a vampire. Moving impossibly fast, D flew up the stairs, homing in on the vampire. This time he actually did rip the door off its hinges, and, sensing that Samantha and the undead creature were on separate sides of the room, he didn't hesitate to hurl the unhinged door at the vampire. It shattered against the creature, who let out an angry snarl. D realized that he recognized the weak vampire.

"My camera!" Brassai exclaimed, baring his fangs angrily. "How dare you! Is this how you repay me for finding her for you? Obviously, she means something to you- it's so intriguing that none of _us _can touch her, though she's fair game for her own kind… I only wanted to take her picture; she's as lovely as you said, and so exquisitely mortal…"

"Go," D commanded hoarsely, kneeling beside Samantha, who lay between blankets on the floor. The vampire stared at them, wishing with all his might that the flying door had somehow missed his camera so that he could capture the scene before him and make it eternal. At last, he nodded and retreated down the hall. It would be dawn soon.

Gently, his hand trembling imperceptibly, D reached for the girl's pale, slender throat. Almost fearfully, he turned her head. There were several small bruises, but definitely no bites. Her eyelids fluttered, and when she opened her eyes she didn't look at D. Instead she stared flatly straight ahead, her expression lifeless. D realized that she had a fever. Without a word, D lifted her into his arms.

* * *

A/N: Paris in the 1920s… an irresistible setting for vampires! I'm sure nobody cares, but Brassai, 'The Eye of Paris', was a real guy who slept during the day and went out at night to wander around Paris taking pictures of prostitutes etc. What he says to D in the above chapter about why he loves the night is a real quote from the real guy. And he's got this weird obsession with mirrors in a lot of his photographs… I first saw his work back in French class in high school and it reminded me of vampires before I ever learned that the guy was practically a vampire himself. Anyway, he's not a recurring character so you can go ahead and forget about him now. Let's move on the obligatory "girl falls for D" part and get that over with. Is anyone actually reading this? Seriously? 


	12. Warmth

Chapter 12: Warmth

York, England 1925

Samantha gazed listlessly at the snowflakes fluttering like tiny moths against her window. The window looked extremely cold, and the world beyond it, colder. The few branches of trees that she could see from her bed seemed crooked and withered, naked and black against the colorless sky. It was nearly dusk. The snow blew restlessly, each lost snowflake seeming pitiful in its confused insignificance. It occurred to her that the world beyond the window had a lot in common with her own heart.

She had been lying in bed for an entire month now- initially out of necessity to recover from her fever, and then, once the fever had passed, she had remained abed by choice. She didn't want to gather her thoughts. She suspected that if she did, she would lose the desire to remain alive. She felt like all she wanted was to keep her mind completely blank. But now she was growing tired of the busy snowflakes, tired of their senseless fluttering at the mercy of the wind. Annoyed, she got up and drew the curtains shut with an angry snap. Then she took a deep breath. She felt dizzy and leaned against the wall. It occurred to her that at this point, regaining her strength would provide a lengthy distraction. The surge of enthusiasm that she felt surprised her- was she that desperate to recover, or just to be distracted?

The fire crackled cheerfully. D sat beside it in one of several large comfortable armchairs, his head inclined, one hand resting across the opened book in lap. It had been a long time since he'd flipped a page.

Almost like a ghost, Samantha appeared at the top of the stairs across the room. The house wasn't exactly a mansion, but it did have a spacious, high-ceilinged living room with a large marble fireplace in the middle. Samantha spied D and froze, but after several moments she noticed the book under his hand and determined that he had fallen asleep while reading. Virtually as noiseless as D himself would have been, she descended the stairs one step at a time. Ordinarily such a feat would have exhausted her patience, but as it was, she was so weak that she needed to rest after each step, leaning heavily on the banister. She reached the bottom of the stairs at last, and paused to steady her racing heart. The last of the grey daylight had long since dissipated, and the heavy black night pressed ominously against the tall windows. The waving flames from the fireplace provided the only light.

Samantha had lived in this house since she was seven. But since her grandmother died, it had seemed a vastly different place. Even in the summer, the house had seemed cold. She felt like an unwelcome stranger. It had been two months since she had been in this living room with its grand fireplace. Although she had spent countless hours in those very chairs, reading every one of the books on the shelves along the walls, the room seemed unfamiliar. She imagined phantom faces peering in from the dark windows, condemning her. She shivered, and returned her attention to D, who still seemed to be asleep.

Old curiosity reignited in her eyes. Why was he here? When she was suffering from the fever, she had been vaguely aware of his presence. It seemed that he hadn't left her side. Geoffrey had been there as well. But when the fever finally lifted, D was gone. Two days later, Geoffrey went back to school. The maid who brought Samantha's meals told her that it had been D who had rescued her, brought her home-- and he was living in the house now, though the servants scarcely saw him. Samantha hadn't cared whether D was living in the house or not. She hadn't wanted to see him, or hear about him- but the young maid, in her determination to be friendly, had mentioned D every day. The maid informed the sullen Samantha that D didn't eat much, and never spoke. Although the young maid was aggravated by his strange and somewhat rude mannerisms, she was obviously quite infatuated with him. She was constantly remarking about how handsome he was, how sorrowful and noble-looking he was etc. etc.

Samantha thought she was done looking at men, but seeing D in the glow of the firelight, she almost changed her mind. The girl narrowed her eyes and gathered her wits, and then studied D with all the cynicism she could muster. She couldn't figure out exactly what it was that made D seem so… attractive. He was pale. Pale skin- was _that _really so handsome? His features were actually rather sharp. His nose was narrow and pointed, his jaw and high cheekbones well-defined without looking haggard or stern. His mouth was a thin-lipped, sad-looking line. On the face of a regular person, none of it would have seemed extraordinary… and yet, D was undeniably beautiful.

Slowly she took a step towards him, and then another hesitant step. Although he hadn't moved, D had woken up as soon as she had stepped out of her room. He had heard her light footfalls in the hall, heard her shallow breathing, heard the faint rustle of her nightgown and shawl. When she appeared at the top of the stairs, D had decided to pretend to be asleep. He didn't want her to feel like she had been 'caught', and he didn't want to talk to her. What could he possibly say? He would never forgive himself for what had happened to her. Why hadn't he found her sooner? Drowning in regret as usual, he remained motionless in the chair as she walked haltingly across the Persian carpet.

Then, unexpectedly, she stopped right in front of him. The reflection of the fire quivered in her eyes. Almost as if in a trance, she stretched one hand out in front of her.

Her fingers hovered in the air for a second, and then gently touched his cheek.

Bewildered, D opened his eyes and looked up at her.

Neither of them spoke. Samantha searched his eyes, although she wasn't sure what of what she hoped to find there. Was there any point looking for the truth about the past? Was there any point looking for an explanation for the present? A log settled in the fire, sending up a flurry of sparks.

Samantha looked away, letting her hand fall back to her side.

"I can't figure it out," she said weakly, the first words D had heard her speak since he had found her that night in Paris. D held his breath, unsure of whether he wanted to hear what she said next.

"I don't understand anything," her voice trembled, and she swayed on her unsteady legs as though she might collapse. Instantly D was on his feet, reaching out with both hands to stabilize her. But as his hands closed gently around her arms, she flinched, and something like terror flashed across her face. D released her as if he'd been scalded. She staggered backwards a step or two and leaned against one of the other armchairs for support.

D stared at the floor, feeling like a monster. He heaved a ragged breath. "I'm sorry," he whispered.

Samantha blinked, and he had vanished. Wildly she looked around the room. Was she dreaming? Had she been hallucinating? She caught sight of the abandoned book lying open on the floor where it had fallen when D stood. It hadn't been a dream, he had been there- but then he had disappeared. She shivered, unnerved, and felt suddenly exhausted. She lowered herself sideways into the chair, drawing her knees up over one of the armrests. The fire was still projecting plenty of warmth into the room. She realized that by focusing on the fireplace, she could almost forget the strange oppressiveness of the room. With her face turned to the orange light, at last she wandered into sleep.

When the flames grew small, a silent shadow appeared beside her, as dark and otherworldly as any nightmare. D bent down, and carefully covered her with a blanket.

* * *

Geoffrey came home for Christmas a few days later, and was delighted to see his sister's remarkable improvement. Although she was still weak, she no longer wasted the days in bed, and she grew stronger with each hour she spent busying herself about the house. The sister, brother, and their dhampir guardian made an odd little family, but they managed to have a happy Christmas together, although Mrs. Belus's absence was painfully apparent. Halfway through January, Geoffrey left for school once again.

No longer needing to put on a happy face for her brother's sake, Samantha would occasionally fall into a gloomy mood. She was definitely still improving, regaining her lively, confident spirit- but now and then she would become depressed, and curl up in an armchair before the fire, desolately staring at the flames. At these times, D would slip into the room and take the chair next to hers, silently reading a book. Although at first she was annoyed by this intrusion, before long she felt greatly comforted by his presence.

* * *

But as winter turned into spring, something odd began to happen. As Samantha's health improved, it seemed that D's declined. It wasn't that he became any less graceful, and he didn't lose any of his strength- but he began to seem tired, and he barely touched his meals. Samantha noticed, and worried about him a great deal, but she knew he wouldn't answer so she didn't try to ask what was the matter with him. Then, to her distress, Samantha began to see him less and less frequently.

And then one afternoon in April she found him asleep on the ground in the stable!

Overcoming her initial shock, she frowned. "D?" she called. D stirred and sat up, but then slumped against the wall.

"D, I'm worried about you. What's gotten into you? You haven't said a single word to me in over a week!"

D said nothing.

The girl fell to her knees beside D, not caring that she was wearing one of her nicer dresses. She tried to look him in the eye but he turned his head away.

"Please talk to me," she implored softly. "I can't bear to see you like this! Should I send for a doctor?"

"No," D grumbled.

For a moment she was silent, and then her eyes flooded with tears. "I wish I could help you," she whispered, resting her delicate hand on top of his. D was motionless, but his face looked as though he were suffering from a headache. Samantha frowned- his hand was cold.

Determination filled her. She interlaced her fingers with his. "D, I've been horribly selfish. You've always taken care of me, and I've taken it for granted. You rescued me, and I haven't even thanked you. I hope you can forgive me for that- but anyway, D… thank you for saving my life."

D pulled himself to his feet, deftly taking his hand away from her grasp. He felt her aching eyes burning into his back. "I _ruined_ your life," he said softly, without looking at her. His voice was as dark and smooth as the night sky. It made her skin prickle. "Don't thank me for anything."

Without another word, D threw open the barn doors and made his way back to the house, leaving Samantha alone with her tears.

* * *

"Good grief!" D's left palm rearranged itself into a shriveled face. "That was harsh. You're a cold-hearted bastard!"

"And yet I feel like I'm about to burst into flames," D grumbled, practically running towards the shelter of the house.

"That poor girl… surely she didn't deserve that," the demon went on.

"I don't want to be near her right now," D almost growled.

"Oh-ho, so _that's_ what this is about," the hand smirked.

"This sun is killing me." D remarked gruffly. "And what is _what_ about?"

"This will be interesting," his hand teased.

"Why are you so cheerful? If I'm toast so are you."

"Speaking of toast, you haven't eaten yours in quite a few days…"

"It smells like dust."

"No, it smells like butter and jam," the hand corrected. D was in the house now, but even the stone-and-plaster walls seemed like insufficient protection from the warm April sunshine. Noticing how obviously distressed D was, his hand said helpfully, "You know, there _is_ a cellar."

The cellar! Why hadn't D thought of that earlier? He rushed to the kitchen and practically jumped down the stairs into the cool, damp, underground sanctuary of the cellar. Breathing deeply, he stretched himself out flat on the earthen floor. His entire body trembled.

"What the hell is happening to me?" he groaned.

"I think you can figure it out for yourself," his hand replied. "Consider the toast, and for that matter all the other food you've seen these past few months. It's not the smell but the flavor that's wrong with it, and that's why you don't eat it… so basically, you're malnourished."

"I'll die before I'll drink blood, if that's what you're getting at," D said in disgust.

"Oh really? Your stubbornness is quite endearing. Alas, in a few more months you'll change your tune on that subject- I'm afraid you won't be able to help yourself!" the hand practically chuckled.

"But won't that destroy you? If I become a vampire?"

"Just drinking blood won't make you a vampire, you moron," the demon said. "You'll be fine as long as you're not sucking it from a living human. It's the whole taking-of-life part that gets complicated. But there's always animal blood to consider."

"But I don't _want_ blood," D muttered, nauseated. He closed his eyes. The cool ground felt unbelievably soothing against his cheek.

"What _do_ you want, then?" his hand asked.

"…I want to stay here. In the cellar. I think."

"Pathetic," the demon said, shaking its head, and therefore D's hand, slowly from side to side. "Can it be that you don't know the needs of your own body? The only way to save yourself from the sun is to be buried in the earth. _Buried_, not just laying passed-out on the ground like a drunkard. Remember the trenches? Remember the comfort of living underground? Well, Verdun was ten years ago. I'd say you're long overdue for a good nap, vampire-style."

D didn't reply. His hand sighed.

"Look, you have to start taking better care of yourself. And that means both parts of yourself, light and dark. If you don't want to go crazy, then every so often you're going to have to drink some blood, or be buried in the earth, or at _least_ be strictly nocturnal for a while, maybe get yourself a coffin to sleep in."

D's mind reeled. "If those are my only choices, I suppose I'll have to go with being buried," he muttered. "But… just how often is 'every so often'?"

"Knowing you, I'd say… probably once every 5 or 6 years, depending on how you exert yourself, of course."

D was quiet for a few moments, mulling this over. Of course he was hypersensitive to the smell of blood, but he could still honestly say that it didn't _appeal _to him. Reluctantly, he had resigned himself to the fact that one day, that would all change. He dreaded that day, and prayed that by some miracle it might be postponed indefinitely. He wasn't sure if God listened to dhampirs, but when his mind drifted in the unpleasant direction of his 'destiny', he found himself saying a little prayer anyway.

"…And then there's the issue with the girl," the demon said, not about to let D off the hook just yet, not when the beleaguered dhampir prince was being such a good listener.

"But it's true," D said softly. "I really did ruin her life. If I had been able to save Tasia--"

"We know, we know. Get over it already! I swear you're denser than rock. Samantha's in love with you, D! What are you going to do about it?"

D didn't answer. He didn't want to develop feelings for her, and not just because he still wanted to think of her as a child. He immediately discredited _any_ thoughts of romance because he knew that it was completely hopeless, completely foolish, and probably immoral, for a dhampir to fall in love with a human.

* * *

That night he left a note telling Samantha not to worry, and set off to find a dark, lonesome spot in the nearby woods where he could dig a shallow grave for himself. Two nights later, as the moon rose full and heavy, D woke up feeling completely refreshed. Compared to his relative lethargy of late, now his blood seemed to sing with energy. He sat up, the earth crumbling away from him. He was pleased with himself for remembering to bring a bag full of fresh clothes.

* * *

From a long way off he recognized Samantha sitting at her window, gazing out forlornly at the moon. Was she sitting up, waiting for him? He hoped that wasn't the case- the thought made him feel a twinge of guilt. As soon as the moonlight revealed his tall figure walking up the road to the gate, the girl jumped up with a start and disappeared from the window. Seconds later she threw herself out the front door and came running down the drive. She was barefoot, wearing only a white nightgown. Her hair, unbound, streamed behind her in the wind, shining in the silvery light. She reached the ivy-covered gate and strained to lift the heavy bar. Finally she heaved it aside, and the gate creaked open. She flew the short distance down the road to where D stood, watching her.

Something in her expression captivated him, and he had no intention of dodging her as she rushed towards him. No one had ever looked at him like that. Before D had time to ponder exactly what he seeing in her face, she crashed against him. Her hands reached up to clutch his shoulders. She pressed her whole body against his, and briefly D wondered if she had actually been trying to knock him down. With a relieved sigh, she relaxed against him, the tension draining from her. Only her hands refused to ease their desperate grip on his jacket.

D was keenly aware of her rapid, fragile-seeming heartbeat and the warmth of her skin radiating from beneath the thin fabric of her dress. It struck him that her life was like a brave little flame flickering in a dark and indifferent universe. More than anything, he wanted to shield that flame, and be warmed by its glow.

"I thought you were gone," she mumbled, her face pressed against his chest. "I felt like I wanted to die."

D's protective instincts surfaced and he wrapped his arms around her slender shoulders. How could he have become so important to her? He had practically been avoiding her for months. He was ashamed. Her love was unmerited.

Samantha was instantly overwhelmed by a sense of peace and security beyond anything she had ever imagined. She felt like she could never belong anywhere but in his arms. This was love… surely heaven itself couldn't be more wonderful. _You're still such a mystery_, she said to D in her mind. _But I don't care. I want you to be mine forever. Oh, I wish you would promise that you'll love me always … _

* * *

A/N: it's sickening, isn't it? Sigh! I do feel sorry for D. And it only gets worse for him, of course. Sigh again. 


	13. Truth

Chapter 13: Truth

York, England 1926

It was a replay of the scene from just before Christmas, when Samantha had crept downstairs to stare at D in front of the fire. Only now it was May, so there was no need for a fire, and D made no effort to appear asleep as she descended the stairs towards him. She was more beautiful than ever. D noticed that she was wearing a new dress. It was sleeveless and slack across her torso, and the waist belted low across her hips in the typical fashion of the past few years. The hem, he noticed, fell only to just below her knees, revealing her slender, graceful calves. The garment shimmered as she walked, obviously made of silk. The entire dress was a bright cranberry color, against which her white skin contrasted exquisitely.

It occurred to him that women these days wore practically a fourth of the amount of fabric as they had a hundred years previously. He was curious to see if perhaps in another hundred years they'd go about naked. Then he remembered where Samantha would be in a hundred years, and his expression darkened.

Samantha was at the bottom of the stairs now, and she noticed his sulking frown. She hurried towards him. "D, what's the matter? Whatever are you thinking of? Why won't you look at me?"

Reluctantly he turned his gaze to her face. She smiled at this small victory, but was slightly disconcerted by the unfathomable sadness in his eyes. Blinking, refusing to be dissuaded, she said cheerfully, "How do you like my new dress?" She twirled around once. The loose, shimmering skirt floated up a few inches as she did so, revealing a little of her slim white thigh.

"Quite fashionable," D commented. "Will you cut your hair short as well?"

For unimaginable reasons, nearly all the women under thirty these days had incredibly short haircuts, which made their heads look oddly spherical atop their willowy bodies. Samantha laughed.

"I know I ought to," she said, studying one of her shoes coyly. "But somehow I can't bring myself to do it." She peered up at D, a bit of a blush on her cheeks. "Do you think it looks all right?"

"Yes," D said. Then he faltered. "You're beautiful," he added softly. Samantha was delighted. Her eyes shone.

"Stand up!" she ordered, and D complied. She stepped in close, and then took his right arm and wrapped it around her, placing his hand against the small of her back. Then she placed her left hand on his shoulder, and intertwined the fingers of her right hand with those of his left. "D," she said, looking up into his eyes, noticing that there was almost a bit of color in his usually ashen face. "…do you know how to dance?"

"No," D admitted.

"Well then, would you like to learn?" Her voice curled around him like smoke. Mesmerized by her twinkling eyes, D felt vaguely intoxicated. Her fingers kneaded his shoulder slightly. Then it dawned on him that the girl was playing with him. Why else the suggestive dress, the teasing voice? Inexplicably depressed by the realization, he dropped his hands.

"Not really," he muttered, looking away again.

The girl pouted. This was not working out nearly as romantically as she had hoped. "Please, D. Tell me what's wrong."

D turned away, staring into the dark fireplace. She thought she heard him sigh.

"Be honest with me," she pleaded.

"Very well," D said reluctantly. "Your feelings for me are what's wrong. I'm not somebody you should love."

Samantha was stunned. Unconsciously she raised her hand to her mouth, staring at D in disbelief. She shook her head from side to side. "_Who are you_, to tell me who I should or shouldn't love?" she demanded. Then she shook her head again. "No- it doesn't matter who you are. I don't care how old you are- I don't care if your father's a murderer, or that you won't tell me anything about yourself… I don't care about any of it, D, I love you, and I want you…" she caught herself. D was still staring at the fireplace as if he were considering crawling up the chimney to escape her. A horrible new thought appeared in her mind, and her brandy-brown eyes filled with tears.

"But maybe… maybe you don't feel the same way about me," she whispered, folding her arms across her chest in shame. Why, oh why on earth had she picked a _red_ dress? The color that had seemed so elegantly romantic moments ago now seemed lewd and crass. "Maybe you don't want me… because… is it because of Paris?"

D spun towards her, appalled that she would even think such a thing. "Of course not," he said, moving towards her. Fate and future be damned- at the moment she needed him, and he couldn't turn his back. She fell into his arms in relief, and he held her as if she were the most precious thing on earth. "Samantha," he said softly. Her eyes opened wide, tears forgotten. It was the first time he had ever addressed her by name. Something dark fluttered in D's heart, as if warning him that he was making a mistake. She looked up, and he knew she meant to kiss him. He wanted her to kiss him. _Fate and future be damned!_ He wanted to comfort this beautiful, beautiful girl. He wanted to hold her, to feel the cadence of her heart. He wanted _her_. He closed his eyes.

As she kissed him she was swept by delirious excitement. What was it about him that thrilled her so? It was something intangible… an _aura_… she was just barely conscious of it. It compelled her to desire him, to be enchanted by him… yet also… to fear him.

Disoriented, she pulled away. D blinked at her, noticing the confusion on her face. Abruptly she shook the expression away, and leaned her head against his chest, seeming exhausted. She rested there for a moment. Finally, with great effort, she pushed herself away from him, and took several steps backward. She looked at him with glassy eyes, her face flushed. "I love you," she said, and then turned and practically stumbled out of the room.

* * *

"Wuagh huagh huagh," D's hand cackled evilly as soon as she was gone. "Well aren't you the romantic one! That was _marvelous_. I guess I should have expected nothing less from the spitting image of-"

"Shut up," D said.

"But what on earth did you do to her to scare her off like that?"

"I didn't do anything," D protested.

"Heh heh," sniggered the demon. "But you better watch out. She's not going to leave you alone after this- she'll be stalking you like a lioness, no doubt- but it's important not to move too fast-"

"I should just let you talk to her, that should cool her down," D remarked dryly.

"This is serious! You have to be careful! Sure, you've been the model of self control thus far, but what if-"

"Stay out of it," D said, annoyed.

* * *

Back in her room, Samantha's heart was still racing. She couldn't tell if he reciprocated her feelings for him, but against her better judgment she decided that it didn't matter. She stared at her face in the mirror on the wall above her dresser. "I want you to love me, D," she muttered huskily, "but even more than that…" her voice trailed into a whisper. She knew it was wrong to feel this way, but she couldn't help it.

She would have him.

* * *

"Tell me again," D's hand said raucously a few days later. "Which one of you is supposed to be part vampire? I'm confused. Have you seen the look in her eye lately?"

"Yes," D admitted, his voice troubled. Whenever she looked his way, her expression was one of wistful hunger. He thought he'd even seen her lick her lips once- but he hoped he had imagined it. Sitting wearily on his bed, he reached down to take his boots off.

"If I was you, I'd start sleeping with a crucifix in one hand and a stake in the other. I tell you, man, she's creeping me out. She's going to pounce on you any minute now."

"Hush," D said. Someone was out in the hall, moving towards his door.

"It's her, isn't it!" the hand whispered frantically. D couldn't tell if the demon sounded afraid or just half-crazed with excitement.

"Go away!" D hissed, and the demon's face instantly vanished. D sighed. She was probably coming to tell him once again that she loved him, and to try and make him say that he loved her in return. What would he say to her? Should he tell her the truth? _Could_ he tell her?

"D? Are you asleep?" her voice was light and sweet.

"No." He hesitated. "Come in," he said at last. She opened the door and slipped inside. She was wearing a silky sleeveless robe, meant to be worn over a nightgown and tied loosely in front. Only she wasn't wearing a nightgown, and already she was untying the sash. D gaped at her. Was she crazy? He couldn't believe she would resort to seducing him so blatantly.

"I want to know something," she said demurely. "I've been wondering for months now what it might be like to be loved instead of used," she said. She smiled ruefully.

"oh," D managed to say, his mouth feeling oddly dry.

"Please," she whispered, staring into his eyes. She was moving towards him gracefully, reaching for him… now touching his shoulders lightly. "I need you," she breathed, her eyelashes fluttering. Leaning into him, she rested her chin on his shoulder. Involuntarily he breathed in her scent. He'd always been aware of it, but somehow it seemed so much sweeter and richer than before. D was becoming uncomfortable at an exponential rate.

"I can't be complete without you…" she murmured.

"_Nm_," he grunted, swallowing. Something was wrong with his mouth. Such a strange feeling-- he winced. He could feel her breath on his skin. He could make her his, she _wanted_ to be his.

He started to say something, but then he realized just how intimately close his mouth was to her neck, and he snapped his mouth shut on his unspoken words- and in the process, he accidentally did something he'd never done before- he bit his tongue. Bit _through_ it.

And he tasted blood.

Before she knew what was happening, D was on the other side of the room, leaning into the wall as if he meant to push it down. His hands, against the wall on either side of his head, clenched into fists. She watched, fascinated, as his shoulders shook.

"_No_," she heard him say.

"You don't want me?" she asked tremulously.

"I _do_ want you." D growled, and turned around. She gasped. She'd never seen such an enraged expression- and his eyes were glowing scarlet.

"_What are you?_" she cried. She scrambled backwards, overcome by terror.

"Don't be afraid. I won't hurt you," D said. Already the red light was receding from his eyes; his face resuming its usual calm expression. In another moment he was himself again.

Samantha was shaking, her breath coming in short gasps. D pitied her. He sighed. "Child," he said, his voice once again soft and even. "Come here."

As if in a trance, she obeyed. Gently, he picked her up and walked over to the window. She felt as light as paper in his arms. There was a perfect half-moon low in the night sky and D smiled grimly at its poetic propriety- one half of it in the light of the sun, the other in the shadow of the earth.

"There's no point in hiding the truth from you any longer," he said, looking out at the moon regretfully.

* * *

"Put me down," she said suddenly, interrupting his story. D complied, setting her lightly on her feet. Wrapping her robe around herself, she backed away from him slowly. D stood silently, unsure of how to respond. "How dare you," she hissed. "After what I have seen of the world and human cruelty… you dare to tell me fantasy stories like this?"

"I'm telling you the truth," D said gruffly. She shook her head in disbelief.

"You're mad. Or shell-shocked, from the war or something… you can't really _believe_ that you're…" her expression stiffened in anger. Overcome by her emotions, she couldn't finish her thought.

"It's true. I was born in 1764," D said evenly.

"Oh _STOP_ it," Samantha cried, distressed. She brought her hands up to face. "That's _nonsense_, D! Why are you doing this to me? What's _wrong_ with you?"

"I already told you," D muttered. Samantha took another step backwards and leaned against the wall, shaking her head back and forth.

"I don't believe you," she declared, and then her voice trailed into a whisper. "I don't believe in… in vampires."

D didn't say anything.

"The last thing my mother ever said to me," Samantha said in a slightly louder voice. "Was that there aren't any such things as vampires. It's quite a comforting thought, isn't it… that the thing we fear doesn't even exist… it makes one feel so bold and brave."

Wordlessly, D turned his back to her. She hadn't been listening to him. She didn't want to hear the truth after all. It was too absurd, too insane, too tragic. He had been wrong to tell her.

"How dare you say _they_ are real," she was saying. "My mother's last words to me… how dare you ruin them!" she shook her head again. Her world was being torn apart once again. First there had been the loss of her parents… then her grandmother's death, and then she had woken up one day robbed and raped; her romantic, exciting dream-world destroyed overnight as a result of her own stupidity. She had wanted to die. And now, just as soon as she thought she'd found something to hold her together…

She shut her eyes tightly so she wouldn't have to look at him. "How horrible of you," she said. "My heart… is entirely at your mercy, and you respond with _this_… _joke_…you mock my love; you don't know how you make me suffer!"

D looked at her over his shoulder and noticed tears on her face again. All too often, it seemed, he was the cause of her tears, and it weighed on him. "You're a fool for wanting to love someone who only makes you cry," D said quietly, and realized immediately that it had been the wrong thing to say. He hadn't meant to be cruel or snide about it- it was only the truth- but instantly she was furious.

Samantha stared at him, her face livid.

It occurred to him that maybe he should apologize… but for some reason the words wouldn't come.

"So that's what you think of me," she said in a low voice. "Perhaps you really _are_ a monster after all. But I want to know for sure. Show me again."

"What?" D asked, alarmed.

"I thought I saw your eyes turn red a moment ago," Samantha said, her words measured. Resolutely she shoved herself away from the wall, taking a step towards him. Her heart began to pound, and D winced at its intensity. The whole room seemed to full of her heartbeat. "I _must_ have imagined it," she said, sweetly sarcastic.

D began to feel vaguely sick. He recalled the poison gas at Ypres. He felt like he was suffocating from her presence now. She drew closer.

"But if what you say is true, then, prove it to me," she said. "Let me see your eyes burn once more."

D had firmly quelled the storm in his soul, but somehow the girl was summoning it to return, and this time it threatened to surge beyond his control.

Whether consciously or unconsciously, D wasn't sure, but he felt his senses shifting once again. He became acutely aware of her pulse, her _scent_… he could feel himself drawn to her, a predator drawn to its prey. It would be the easiest thing in the world to stop resisting, and complete the transformation. It would be the easiest, most natural thing in the world…

Samantha couldn't tear her gaze away from what she was seeing. It terrified and amazed her. It was as if his eyes had been scarlet all along, but only showed their true color now that they were illuminated from within. The trance-like enchantment she had felt when she kissed him swept over her again, only it seemed three times as powerful as before. She stared at him imploringly, bound by fascination, frozen in anticipation. What if his outrageous claims were true? What did it matter? Breathlessly she leaned towards him.

He was tempted to take her and drown all his passions in her. D felt a stinging twinge in his left hand. It irked him that the parasitic demon had the audacity to scold him so. Suddenly he felt confident that he knew what he was doing; he _wasn't _a mindless animal. With deliberate grace he touched her shoulders. His eyes closed partially, and he almost smiled. …_Yes_, this was just right. He didn't want to kill her; he was only a little bit

thirsty…

As soon as the thought entered his mind, an explosion of light threw him and the girl to opposite sides of the room. Samantha's skull crashed into the framed mirror that hung on the wall and she slumped to the floor, unconscious, as the shattered glass rained down around her. The glass gave her several shallow cuts, and the keen smell of blood flooded the room.

D hit the other side of the room with enough force to crack his ribs and leave a slight concave impression in the wall. Dust rained down from the ceiling. Gnashing his teeth, he instantly spun around and was on his feet. He pressed his hand angrily against his broken ribs and grunted painfully as they began to heal. What had happened? The light had been the most intense sunlight D had ever felt. His entire body had felt instantly scorched. Wildly he searched the room. His scarlet eyes rested on Samantha. A small mark as bright as the sun burned white-hot on her forehead. D squinted at it, angered because it hurt his eyes. Then his eyes widened in shock as he realized what it was: a cross. And written within the glowing cross, in an ancient script that no human could decipher, was a very precise message: _don't touch_.

Then D remembered what Brassai, the young Parisian vampire, had said when D found him in the room with Samantha: _it's so intriguing that none of _**us**_ can touch her, though she's fair game for her own kind. _And he remembered his father's letter to Richard Rowntree: _I have sworn to protect your family…none of you will ever suffer the same fate as your beloved wife…_

The scarlet light fled from his eyes as he realized what he'd almost done, and in that instant the glowing cross vanished. If his father could see him now, the old king would certainly have a good laugh. The protective charm that Dracula had put on the girl had stopped _D_, of all creatures, from drinking her blood.

Trenchant shame ripped through his heart and D covered his face with his hands as if to block out some horrible vision. He had nearly ended his own existence. After a while he looked up at Samantha. The few cuts from the glass were minor, but to D it seemed as if a river of blood was flowing before him. The aroma was overwhelming. Panicking, D knew he had to leave. He was too weak. If he stayed he would become thirsty again and throw himself against the charm like a moth throwing itself at a flame. D realized in a rush of vertigo that he never wanted to see Samantha again. D grabbed his coat and hat from where they hung on a chair, fled from the house to the stables and threw his saddle on his horse. Within moments he had disappeared down the road at a gallop.

Behind him, the half-moon sank below the horizon.

* * *

A/N: wow, that was actually fun to write! (but I do feel sorry for D. Unfortunately, women are always falling in love with him. Tragic!) The cross as a protective charm thing comes from the books… eventually D learns how to do it. Regular vampires see it all the time, because they have evil intentions all the time, but it's usually invisible to D. If anyone's reading this, I have to say, congratulations- you've made it through the 'boring' middle part of the story! My favorite part (that I'm actually proud of writing), is coming up soon. Thanks for reading! 


	14. Seek and Ye Shall Find

Chapter 14: Seek and ye shall find

Germany, 1939

"May I sit beside you, my son?"

Without turning his head, D glanced up at the priest. He had a kind face to match his kind voice. He was in his 60s, with neatly combed white hair and faded blue eyes behind round glasses. D nodded slightly and the old man settled onto the pew next to him with a faint sigh. It was just before dawn, and they were the only two people in the church.

"The Wehrmacht began the bombardment of Warsaw yesterday," the old man remarked after several moments. "Did you know?"

"No," D said softly.

The priest shook his head grimly. "This new war will be worse than the last," he predicted sadly. "They sent more than a _thousand_ aircraft to bomb that city. Can you even imagine it?"

D said nothing.

"War is the story of the world," the priest said. "I suppose it is because there is war inside all of us, constant war." The priest studied D out of the corner of his eye, his expression one of compassion and understanding. D inclined his head in another faint nod.

"I couldn't help but notice that you come here quite often," the priest went on apologetically. "And I was wondering if you would like someone to talk to. If there is anything I can do to help…"

"I'm waiting to see if God will answer my questions," D said, unsure of why, after thirteen years of brooding over those questions alone, he felt comfortable admitting it to the white-haired old man.

The priest smiled. "You've been coming here for two years," he said. "But never to mass, only late at night or in the very early morning, and you sit here for hours staring at the cross above the alter. You have incredible patience, if you are only awaiting an answer from God."

"I wouldn't presume to set God's schedule," D said. "No matter how many years I must wait, it will be worth it if He really does answer."

"That's quite different from most people," the priest remarked amicably. "So many lose faith if their prayers aren't answered immediately."

"That is because their lives move forward so quickly," D said softly. "They cannot afford to sit around waiting for God."

"But _you_ can," the priest said. It didn't sound like a question, so D didn't reply. The priest followed D's eyes up to the cross. "What are your questions? Perhaps God will provide answers through me."

D closed his eyes. "Very well," he breathed. "What is the power of a cross?"

The priest was taken aback. He had expected the somber young man to ask why God allowed evil or suffering or injustice in the world, something like that. "The power of a cross?" he repeated, blinking. "Why, a cross is just a symbol. It has no 'power' of its own."

"As a symbol, then. What is its power as a symbol?"

"It reminds us that Christ died for us," the priest said.

"The cross is the symbol of mankind's salvation from sin," D muttered, as if he had repeated it to himself many times. He shook his head. That wasn't enough of an answer. Then he looked the priest in the eye. "My next question is much more difficult," he said, his voice cold. "Why was it that Joseph of Arimathea gathered Christ's blood in a cup?"

The priest nodded to himself, carefully considering the question and the young man who asked it. "That, of course you are aware, was the cup that Christ drank from at the last supper." He met D's gaze evenly. "You must understand that the body and blood of Christ provide us with spiritual nourishment."

"_Spiritual _nourishment," D said, his expression deeply troubled.

"Yes. When we receive the Sacrament of the Eucharist, we become closer to Christ… it helps us to resist temptation, and it reminds us that in Christ we have everlasting life."

"Everlasting life," D repeated. The priest thought he sounded a little sarcastic.

"Christ promised us: _'He that eateth my flesh and drinketh my blood, hath everlasting life'_," the priest reminded him.

"Yes, well, back to my question," D said. "If Joseph of Arimathea took Christ's blood in order to _drink_ it, why not take some of Christ's body in order to eat it? Why take the blood, and not flesh too?"

The priest looked at D strangely for a moment, and then sighed. "My son, I cannot answer that question. But maybe I can still help you. Have you any mortal sins to confess?"

D looked startled.

"Have you offended God, and fallen outside His grace?" the question was gentle, rather than accusatory.

"I… yes. I have been tempted."

"Temptation is not sin," the priest told him.

"Yet I _wanted_ to sin," D said. "And to feel such overwhelming temptation… I _must_ be beyond God's grace."

The old man shook his head, smiling. "_'There hath no temptation taken you but such as is common to man: but God is faithful, who will not suffer you to be tempted above that ye are able; but will with the temptation also make a way to escape, that ye may be able to bear it.'_ " D caught his own dumbfounded reflection in the priest's glasses. "You didn't commit the sin, did you?" the priest asked.

Slowly D shook his head no.

"There is someone I think you should meet," the priest said, standing and moving into the aisle. "Go to the cathedral of Naumburg. It is a small town a hundred miles north of here on the Saale river."

"And then?" D asked.

"Just go to the cathedral. His name is Raban. Perhaps after all these years, God has answered _his_ questions… and if so, then he will be able to help you."

D studied the priest for another moment, and then stood. "Thank you," he said quietly. "I'll be on my way."

The priest looked at him critically. "Is that wise, my son?" he asked. "The sun is rising."

D smiled, unsurprised and not the least bit offended. "I think I can guess what sort of 'person' Raban is," he muttered. The priest shook his head.

"He's not quite what you think," the old man said.

"Neither am I," D said, and made his way to the door.

* * *

Several days later, D arrived in the small town of Naumburg. When he found the impressive medieval cathedral, the first thing he noticed was the smoke billowing from one of its spires. D confronted the first person he saw.

"Your cathedral's on fire!" he exclaimed.

The man looked at him mistrustfully. "New in town, eh?" he said, and continued down the street. At a loss, D found another passerby.

"Excuse me," he tried again. "But it seems the cathedral is on fire."

"Don't worry, it's fine," the middle-aged woman assured him. "Every day from sunup to sundown, smoke pours from that tower. No one's sure what it's from, but it's been going on for months and there doesn't seem to be any damage." She shook her head. "A miracle, maybe, but a mystery, certainly," she said, and went on her way.

* * *

As soon as D set foot inside the gate, a naked girl came running towards him. D stared at her coldly. She didn't smell human, but she couldn't be a vampire either. She ran right up to him and grabbed his left hand before he could react.

"Hello!" the girl said, addressing the palm of his hand. The demon's face materialized.

"Well hello," it replied, just as cheerfully.

"What brings you here?" the girl asked breathlessly.

"I'm looking for someone called Raban," D said, but the girl ignored him, and continued staring raptly at his hand.

"He's looking for someone called Raban," the demon explained.

"Oh! How _tantalizing_!" the girl said, and then she disappeared.

D stood there holding up his left hand in the air, stunned.

"Obviously this is not a normal cathedral," his hand remarked.

"What was she?" D asked, perturbed.

"A demoness, clearly," his hand answered. "It's been millennia since I've seen one so pretty. Or seen one at all, actually. That she can run about so freely here… well, this ought to be quite an educational experience for an infant like you. Let's go check out that tower."

* * *

Statues seemed to stare at him from every wall and corner as he made his way through the cathedral. At last he found the stairs leading to the burning tower, and made his way up them. As he climbed the stairs he heard whispers and laughter coming from the stones around him.

"Lots of demonesses," muttered his hand. The smell of the smoke was getting stronger and more foul with every step. D recognized it with a twinge of sickened dread: the stink of burning flesh. At last he was at the top. D opened the door to the balcony, and winced instinctively at the scene he found outside.

A proud figure stood bare-chested on the balcony, facing the setting sun. Its hands were clasped behind its back, and it was entirely engulfed in flames. D clenched his teeth. Looking closely, he could see that the vampire's skin was burning away and simultaneously regenerating.

There was no doubt in D's mind as to the identity of the dying vampire.

"Raban," D said a strong, quiet voice. "Come inside."

The vampire spun around. "Doesn't anyone respect the dying anymore? Can't you see I'm busy killing myself at the moment? Can't it wait until dark?" he snarled, but then his expression changed.

"Oh, it's _you_," he said hatefully, and, in a swirl of flame, he headed towards the door. Once in the sanctuary of darkness, the heavy wooden door shut against the sunlight, the vampire's steaming skin instantly smoothed and cooled. There was a shirt and vest hanging on a peg beside the door, and by the time he had put them on, he was completely healed. He was a little taller than D, but with the same broad-shouldered, graceful form. His black hair was cut relatively short, but still seemed untidy. His eyes were deep and shone like red glass. This was obviously a pureblood, and D had never met a vampire with a presence so much like his father's.

"You're remarkably powerful," D commented.

"Save your flattery, mutt," the vampire snapped, heading down the stairs. "Come!" Raban called, and D followed him, completely at a loss. At the bottom of the stairs, Raban opened a tall wooden cabinet and took out two swords. One of them he tossed to D, who caught it instinctively by the hilt.

The vampire, meanwhile, assumed a fencing stance, pointing the tip of his weapon at D's chest. "Come on then, let's get it over with," the vampire said, sounding bored.

"… I don't understand," D said quietly.

"I _won't_ go along with his dreadful 'conquest', but I won't let the likes of _you_ kill me for it, either."

"I'm not here to kill you," D said. "A priest told me to find you." Raban blinked. His eyes were like cold wine. Then he lowered his sword.

"Oh, I see," Raban said, and stared at D for several frozen seconds. "What year do the humans call it?" the vampire asked distractedly.

"1939," D answered. Twenty-five years ago, his father had asked him the same question.

"Ah," Raban said, and put his sword back in the cabinet. "It's only been 40 years, so I suppose he might still be alive," he muttered.

D had no idea what was going on. Then he remembered the sword in his hand. Wordlessly, he offered it to Raban hilt-first. Raban glanced at the blade, and then up at D's expressionless face. The vampire smiled.

"Keep it," he said. "Now follow me. I have what you're looking for."

"What am I looking for?" D asked.

"The Holy Grail, of course," Raban replied.

* * *

"Go ahead and drink from it if you wish," Raban said, carelessly tossing the cup to D.

"This is…" D whispered, awed. His fingers were quickly going numb.

"Yes, the cup which first held Christ's blood, the one they've been making the fuss over for who-knows-how-long. I daresay a _dhampir_ never touched it before. Well, 'let us proclaim the mystery of our faith', as they say. Try to take a sip, I'd like to see what happens."

"You're sure I …can?" D asked. The vampired nodded. Feeling delerious, D raised the ancient artifact to his mouth.

"It's just water," he choked, lowering the cup again. Raban smiled.

"Interesting," the vampire remarked. "If you were a vampire, of course, you'd taste blood, although it would nearly kill you. And if you were a human, the water you just drank would sustain your life supernaturally. I often wondered whether a dhampir would taste blood that wouldn't kill him, or water that wouldn't keep him alive. It seems the latter is the case."

"So what's the connection?" D asked. "Vampires, crosses, blood, water, death, and immortality- where does it all come from, and what does it mean?"

Raban stared at him, and then laughed, revealing long white fangs. "You mean your dear old dad never told you?" he laughed. "Of course he didn't. He doesn't know- none of us _know_. I've studied the matter for centuries, and the only thing I know for sure is that our species _must_ die out eventually. We cannot survive. Even if _his _plan succeeds, and we enslave the humans, still, we are doomed. Most likely your father has already realized this, but prefers to chase his blasphemous dream because it's_ much more amusing_ to go on existing than to become extinct _obediently_."

* * *

A/N: I first made up this suicidal vampire character for a different story, and I liked him so much I figured he ought to show up in this story too, and have a pretty important role at that. I actually had his character in mind when I wrote Dracula's part earlier- you'll find out why in the next chapter. Raban is a rationalizer- and just a bit cynical. He's tired of being so smart and clever. I think the best word for D's character is "gloomy". Dracula's sort of a combination of both of their characters, with a lot of pride thrown on top. Anyway, Naumburg Cathedral is, of course, a real place. And now it's 1939 and we're in WWII! The parallels between Nazis and vampires is too good to pass up. At first it sounds dumb, but if you think about it for two minutes, really the Nazis were a lot like vampires… but I'm not about to write a thesis on it or anything. 


	15. The tide will turn

Chapter 15: The tide will turn

D stared at him. "How do you know who I am, anyway?" he asked gruffly.

The vampire blinked. "Forgive my rudeness," he said. "We've never formally met. I'm Aldrich Raban. Shall we shake hands, or is that thing contagious?" he glanced disdainfully at D's left hand.

"Contagious?" the voice from the hand huffed, outraged. "If anything ever possesses any part of your body, I'll make sure it latches on somewhere a lot more inconvenient than your hand!"

Raban ignored the threat. "I'm quite sensitive to demons, you see," Raban said as D self-consciously covered his left hand with his right. "But my _brother_, with his wolves and bats and dark magic, has far more useful talents than I." He smiled as D slowly figured it out.

"We have much to discuss," Raban said. "Though at the moment I am more ravenous than usual. It's time to quench my appetite a bit." He snapped his fingers and D jumped as three naked demonesses appeared.

"Master!" they said in unison. "It's been ages since you've summoned us. Are you hurt? Are you tired? How may we please you?"

"To start, you could wear some clothing in front of our guest," Raban said dryly.

"Guest!" they cried excitedly, spinning around to face D. "How may we please our guest?"

"You'll leave him alone, you tiresome whores," Raban muttered. The demonesses pouted at Raban.

"You used to love us, Master. Why have we lost your favor?"

"That was centuries ago," Raban groaned. "Now behave yourselves or I'll throw you out for good." He pointed to D. "This is a dhampir. He requires human food, and I will have my usual meal," Raban said. "One of you set the table in the great hall. We'll be there directly."

The three of them disappeared again. Raban sighed. "I only keep them here so they won't cause trouble out in the world," he grumbled in explanation. "Now, come with me. I'll show you my cathedral."

* * *

Raban gave D a brief tour of his impressive home. "I first learned of Christ from some Romans, of course," Raban told D conversationally. "I was fascinated right away, and resolved to discover why any simple _cross _held such power over me. I became obsessed, and searched for centuries for a location to build my own house of worship for the Lord, so I could study the phenomenon up close. I came to this place a thousand years ago and built my castle. And then in the thirteenth century, I built this little cathedral _above _it." Raban smiled. He had led D to a small wooden door that barely came to D's waist. Raban opened the door and motioned with his hand. "After you," he said. D stooped and went through the door.

On the other side of the small door was a vast stone staircase leading down into the earth. Raban shut the door behind himself and snapped his fingers once again. Torches flared to life, illuminating the staircase. Each torch was held by a lifelike statue of a medieval lord or lady. There must have been fifty on either side.

Silently Raban led the way down the grand staircase, and into the cavernous hall at the bottom. D guessed they were probably close to 200 feet underground.

The walls of the great hall were huge stone murals, sculpted out of the living stone. An inferno blazed in the rear of the cavernous hall, in a fireplace which was at least twelve feet high and carved to look like a gaping, fang-filled mouth. Nostrils and slanted eyes were carved into the rock above it, so that the red glow from the chimney shone out into the room. As a result, it looked like a monstrous dragon was crouched in the room, ready to pounce. Raban sat down wearily at the head of the great table in his grand dining hall. D noticed that the table, which could have easily accommodated three dozen people, had been set for two. "Please sit," Raban instructed. D was still carrying the sword Raban had given him. He placed the weapon on the table and took his seat. "I once had splendid parties in this room," the vampire said, sipping a glass of water. "With fresh young girls from surrounding villages for dessert. We'd auction them off to each other in a sort of after-dinner game. We nearly drank ourselves to death, and we relished it. Like alcoholics afloat in an ocean of their favorite liquor. I serve a meaner fare now."

As if that was their cue, half a dozen giggling demonesses appeared bearing two steaming trays. Three of them wore cooking aprons; the other three wore chef hats. That constituted the only clothing to be seen. D averted his eyes, and Raban groaned and massaged his forehead as if he had an excruciating headache. "WHY don't you girls ever dress yourselves properly?" he moaned.

"It's more fun this way," one of them exclaimed, appearing behind D and scraping one of her fingernails lightly along the edge of his ear. D stood up abruptly and with the back of his hand he knocked the creature halfway across the room. The others laughed excitedly. "ooo, he's a violent one!"

"Enough!" Raban said. "I told you to leave him alone. He wants nothing to do with you. No one wants anything to do with you anymore! Put down the food and get out. And if you want to keep disobeying orders, I swear I will banish you all!"

The maidservants placed the trays on the table and vanished through the walls, mumbling their gripes and frustrations. "Damn you, D," D's left hand grumbled. "I've noticed a disturbing trend with you these past few years…you always make a fist when naked women are running about. It's deprivation, I tell you. Cruel deprivation! I never get more than a glimpse of anything."

"Your little friend there seems to have quite a dirty mind," the vampire remarked, raising his glass in a mock toast. "It occurs to my own dirty mind that I might have had some crazy fun with such a demon back in my younger days."

"Whoa," the hand said.

D's face twitched a bit in disgust.

"Anyway," Raban said, finishing his glass of water with only a slight cough. "Let's eat. You're probably hungry and I'm getting _too _hungry." He lifted the lid of the tray, which hissed slightly as his hand touched it.

"A silver tray?" D's hand asked. D picked up a fork. "And real _silver_ silverware? This guy really loves hurting himself, doesn't he?" D lifted the lid of his own tray, and discovered a grand dinner of roast chicken, cooked vegetables, and fresh bread. Then he caught a whiff of what was being served on Aldrich's platter. "Garlic?" the hand asked incredulously, and burst into obnoxious laughter. "A vampire who eats garlic for dinner with a silver spoon? This is ludicrous! D, can this guy be for real? Roast garlic in garlic sauce with garlic bread? I'm going to throw up."

D held his hand out over the floor, away from his food, with an expression of suppressed horror on his face.

"I was kidding," the hand said.

"Interesting," Raban said. Then, bowing his head, he folded his hands and closed his eyes. "Bless us O Lord and these thy gifts which we are about to receive from thy bounty through Christ our Lord, Amen."

D stared at him, dumbfounded. The vampire opened his dark eyes and smiled ruefully.

"You haven't got a soul, so what's the point?" D's hand asked flatly. "You're not getting any holy points or anything."

Aldrich picked up a piece of bread that was completely coated in garlic powder. "Your knowledge of my species astounds me." He took a big bite, chewed thoughtfully, and swallowed.

"What else do you do?" the hand teased. "Have you baptized yourself? Do you sing hymns? Do you take communion?"

"What do you think?" Raban asked with a smile.

"Not communion," D guessed quietly. The vampire nodded. It was as D suspected. How ironic that vampires were excluded from that mystical ritual… and yet there had to be a connection somewhere.

D stabbed at his own food. Vampire and dhampir ate for a while in silence.

"Raban," D said finally, unable to restrain his questions.

"Call me Aldrich. We're family, after all."

"Aldrich, then. Why do you torture yourself?"

"It's what I deserve," Aldrich explained. "You see, without a soul, I might not go to hell when I finally turn into a lovely little pile of ash. Perhaps I will simply cease to exist, and that would be far too kind a fate for a creature like me." D watched him take another bite of roast garlic, and suddenly lost his appetite.

"You're too old to be fully innocent of vampirism," Aldrich went on, "But you are still far too young to appreciate the sort of evil that I've brought upon this world. I've sucked blood from thousands of human throats. Name any despicable act, and I'm sure to have committed it at some point. As the sun punishes me, I trace in my mind all my horrible sins. My history of darkness, of lust and carnage, of hot, running blood. My history of causing pain to others, to humans and to half-breeds, to my own children. I've hurt them all, and felt nothing. I've killed them all, and lived on. But now, it is my turn to feel pain, and soon, to die."

"And you believe all vampires should kill themselves?" D asked.

"Don't you?" Aldrich countered, and then seemed momentarily mesmerized by his hand, which was sizzling angrily where the silver fork touched it. Aldrich sighed and put the fork down for a moment, shaking his burnt hand in the air. "Let's talk politics for a moment. The maniacs who control this country want to clear aside the 'inferior' races. It is their mission, their veritable _obsession_. They took Czechoslovakia, and now Poland- Russia's next. They'll enslave or exterminate all the Slavs. But why? Because they feel they are the _master race_. Their fanaticism will cause much destruction, much bloodshed. They might rise to the top for a while. But they will not be victorious in the end. That simply isn't how the world works. Undoubtedly you know that in the next thousand years or so, your father hopes to see _vampires_ rise up in the world as the master race. It will work for a while. For a time, humans will live in fear and the world will be as it was in ancient days. But it won't last forever. The tide will turn, and vampires will be exterminated. For we are inherently flawed, and quite _inferior_ to humans, despite the assurances of our own conceit. We _shouldn't_ exist."

Aldrich studied D for half a moment, recognizing the conflict in the dhampir's heart.

"Let me ask _you_ a question," Aldrich said, picking up his fork again. "It seems you agree with me about vampires. But what about you. Why don't you kill yourself? Do you have any purpose for existing?"

"For several years I did," D said softly. "But they grew up. And I… became unable to protect them."

Aldrich nodded. "But you didn't seek death."

"I sought answers."

"But now you know there are none."

D felt protest rising in his chest. It was true he was of no use to the world. His life was only a war against himself… a pointless war, with only suffering in store for him. It seemed logical to end it, and yet…

"There is a desire for life within you," Aldrich said coolly. "You can't help it- it's your humanity. I've seen it in many of my dhampir children- the love of being alive that no pureblood will ever know. Still, without a purpose… what a futile existence."

D considered all of that as the vampire finished his disgusting meal.

When his tray was bare, Aldrich downed another glass of water and leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes. "We give thee thanks for all thy benefits, O Almighty God, who liveth and reigneth the world without end," he mumbled deliriously. "May the souls of the faithful departed, through the mercy of God, rest in peace. Amen… this is wonderful. I feel quite ill. Very near to death, I think. And I'm not hungry at all."

"Tell me about my father," D asked.

"He is far older than me. He was the first vampire. I was the second. I have no idea where either of us came from, so don't ask. All I know is that we were never human. In the early days we hunted together. I was the one who really _liked _humans. Your father only saw them as food. But _I _would play with my food, so to speak. As a result I had many dhampir children. But I killed them all before they were old enough to understand what they were. _You_ are your father's first and only dhampir child. And he never considered killing you." Aldrich smirked. "A funny thing, Love."

D was silent.

"It was love that finally changed me," Aldrich went on, smiling despite the sadness in his eyes. "I'm sure I'll bore you with the story some other time. But right now, to business. Obviously you haven't joined your father's cause, so why not join mine?"

D met his uncle's cold gaze. "You could help me exterminate vampires," Aldrich said, sounding amused. "I sense power in you. But better still, I sense your _reluctance_ to use it. I am evil and can do little that is truly good. But you… you are different. You could be a hero."

"I've already been a soldier," D muttered, closing his eyes. "I didn't like it." Aldrich chuckled quietly. "I know one thing you've never been," he said. "Something I could teach you to be… something you were _born_ to be."

"A killer?" D guessed, not liking the sound of it much.

"Oh, I think you can be more …_sophisticated _than that," the old vampire said.

"What, then?" D asked.

Aldrich smiled, his cold eyes gleaming. "_A hunter_."

* * *

A/N: And there you have it… seventy pages into the story we finally find out that D's going to become a vampire hunter. He's growing up so fast! 


	16. Winging it

Chapter 16: Winging it

Poland, 1940

It must have been several hours past midnight. The chilly February wind drove ghostly flurries of snow between shivering trees. D had been riding for hours, ever since afternoon. An hour or two after sunset the enormous raven had caught up with him, and had leisurely hovered above him ever since, coasting easily through the gusting winds. D's horse sighed, its breath hanging as twin clouds of steam in the night air. D patted the animal's neck reassuringly.

Suddenly the wet, frigid wind brought the smell of blood to D's attention. He sat up a little straighter. The sword strapped across his back clinked dully against the saddle as if to remind D of its presence. He felt a rush of smooth air wash over him and looked up in time to see the huge bird descending towards him. The horse's ears turned back nervously at the sound of the wind, but it trusted D and didn't try to bolt, even as the huge bird came within ten feet of its head as it swooped low to the road.

The raven's twelve-foot wingspan barely cleared the trees on either side of the road, and D squinted in curiosity as it began to change its shape. The claws of the bird uncurled and stretched, and it was a pair of tall black boots that stepped gracefully down to earth 20 yards ahead of D. The great wings seemed to melt out of the sky like large splashes of black paint running down a canvas, and then suddenly the bird was gone, replaced by the tall shadow of D's uncle. The horse snorted, its instincts warning it to stay clear of the dark menace in its path.

Like D, the vampire had a sword slung across his back. Looking over his shoulder at D, his expression was extremely calm, almost serene. He beckoned for D to follow him as he walked down the road. D nudged his horse forward. Soon the smell of blood reached the animal, which began to toss its head in fearful frustration. Equally bothered by the thickening smell, D dismounted and led the horse on foot.

The dirt road broadened and a group of houses became visible through the trees. There were fewer than ten buildings in the little village. Aldrich paused in front of the first little home, and then stretched his right hand towards it. He barely flexed his fingers, and the door and all the windows shattered inward with a sound as sharp as the crack of a gunshot.

"Go take a look," Aldrich said softly, his hand falling to his side. Wordlessly D passed the reins to his uncle and headed for the door. The horse whinnied nervously, watching D leave. Aldrich frowned and pressed his thumb to the animal's forehead, freezing it in place in the middle of the road. The wind blew its mane and tail but it was rooted in place like a statue. Aldrich dropped the reins and crossed his arms across his chest. The young dhampir had been under Aldrich's instruction for half a year now, and it was time to discover his capabilities.

* * *

D stepped through the scattered splinters that had recently been a door. There was one body in the room, that of a middle-aged man. D narrowed his eyes. Both the man's arms had been torn off at the elbows, and both of his legs had been ripped off at the knees. D had seen this sort of carnage plenty of times before, at Ypres and Verdun, yet somehow in the kitchen of a tiny country home it seemed even more horrible. The floor around the body was covered in blood, and someone –something- had obviously used the severed limbs as paintbrushes, using them to rub blood all over the walls of the room. It was pitch black, but D had no trouble reading the racial slurs in the bloody graffiti. Silently he moved to the next room, the children's bedroom, where the small bodies of a boy and girl were splayed across their half-sized beds, the patchwork quilts and rumpled sheets saturated with their cold, sweet-smelling blood. D clenched his teeth, noticing the ragged holes through the children's slender wrists. D knew instinctively that most of their innocent blood was either on the floor or soaked into their beds. They had been _tasted_, and left to bleed to death.

"Did you know about this?" D growled at his uncle, appearing at the doorway of the house.

"It happened last night and I heard about it this morning," Aldrich replied quietly. "Look in the next house."

D strode angrily to the next building. This one's door had already been smashed, apparently with an axe. Inside he found the bodies of two grown men in pieces on the floor. On the kitchen table was a third body, that of a boy around twelve years old. His shirt clung to his chest in bloody tatters, his neck and shoulders covered in telltale puncture wounds. Most of his blood had been taken.

In the third house were the bodies of an old man and three children. D felt a light tap on the brim of his hat and looked up. The ceiling had been virtually painted with blood. D charged back out into the street.

"Where are they?" D asked his uncle, his voice like steel.

"I want you to see every last human body first," Aldrich replied evenly. "I want you to see every detail, smell every drop of stale blood. Imagine each kill in your mind."

"Why?" D demanded. "It won't help them."

"No," Aldrich said calmly. "But it will help _you_."

D tore through the other houses. There was carnage in practically every room. Soon there was only one building left to investigate, the village chapel. It stood separated from the houses by about a hundred yards, but D picked up the smell of blood seeping from its wooden walls, and simultaneously he detected the presence of the vampires within the building. Without a second thought he drew his sword.

"Not exactly subtle, is he?" Aldrich commented to the frozen horse as D kicked open the chapel door.

* * *

Aldrich entered the chapel respectfully, gracefully stepping around the bodies that littered the floor. As he'd expected, all the women from the small Polish village had been gathered here and slaughtered separately. Several pews had been overturned, the piano cleaved in two, and the one stained-glass window, probably the village treasure, had been smashed. A cold wind blew past the jagged shards protruding from the window frame, causing torn pages from hymnals and the holy scripture to flutter across the floor.

The old vampire found his nephew sitting on the floor behind one of the overturned pews, splattered with blood and impaled on his own sword.

"So," Aldrich said, coming to stand in front of the beaten dhampir. "How did it go?"

D didn't reply. Aldrich reached out and grasped the hilt of D's sword.

"Brace yourself," the old vampire said, and pulled the sword free. D groaned, covering the gurgling hole in his chest with his hand. "I warned you about this," Aldrich admonished, studying the thin blade. "This isn't regular steel, part of it's pure silver. Even _you _won't heal while the silver's still in contact with the wound."

Shakily D pulled himself to his feet. "They got away," he grunted.

"Yes, all the way to the spot I was standing, waiting for them. Good job flushing them out."

"But I was trying to kill them," D muttered.

"That was ambitious of you."

"I failed."

Aldrich smiled. "This time, yes."

D glanced at the bodies all around them on the floor. "These people…"

"Burning's the easiest way," Aldrich said conversationally.

Together they torched the whole village. For about an hour they watched the flames, to be sure the snowy weather wouldn't put them out. In 1940, no one would notice the burning of yet another small Polish village.

Aldrich gave an evaluative glance at the eastern sky.

"I've rescheduled my suicide in order to instruct you," Aldrich said abruptly, "So that means it's time for me to go home."

"What did you do to my horse?" D asked gruffly.

Aldrich smiled thinly. "Must I explain everything? Figure it out and undo it!" In a rush of black wings, he was gone.

* * *

"Tracking, trapping, and destroying. These are the basics of hunting. Vampires like the ones from last night aren't even worth mentioning. You need to learn how to defeat _real _aristocrats." Aldrich held his sword in one hand, keeping it level with D's chest. The two had been sparring for hours already, and Aldrich was giving D a chance to catch his breath. "Remember that we all have certain talents… some control rats or other animals, some can create illusions, some can walk up walls and across the ceiling. Some of us can fly, or turn into creatures that fly. And there are endless variations of dark magic- mind control, the ability to disappear or become incorporeal. But we all die from the same causes."

"Decapitation, impaled through the heart, fire," D panted.

"You must have studied up," Aldrich said with amiable sarcasm. "Holy water will kill us too, if you have enough of it. The difficulty lies in anticipating and defeating each vampire's unique talents, and figuring out how to use your own talents against them. Obviously, sunlight will be one of your most useful allies. If you chase a vampire all night, just before dawn it will become panicky and be more likely to make a mistake. And never forget the demon in your hand- it can be far more useful than it has revealed to you thus far."

"Hey!" exclaimed the demon. "We haven't even known each other for fifty years yet! We're still getting acquainted- don't expect me to spill _all_ my secrets."

Aldrich ignored the protest. "As you mature, your speed and strength will increase. But you mustn't rely on either of those skills. After all, for quite a while you will be hunting those who are stronger and faster than you." As if to make his point, Aldrich's sword flashed and opened a bloody slit under D's chin. "Close the wound," Aldrich instructed. D blinked. A drop of blood hit the floor beside his foot. "Don't _wait_ for it to heal. Fix it," Aldrich said, switching to a two-handed grip on his sword. D barely blocked the next attack, and staggered backwards as Aldrich advanced, slashing away in front of him. Diagonally from the left. Horizontally from the right. Diagonally from the right, horizontally from the left. The sword traced predictable figure-eights in the air around Aldrich's head and shoulders. Eventually D caught on, reading the pattern and reacting to it subconsciously. Aldrich nodded approvingly, and then slashed down vertically. D leapt back just in time to avoid being cut in half, but the vampire leapt forward only a split second later. D managed to get his sword at an angle in front of his body and blocked the attack, although the force behind it made his feet skid backwards across the ground. "Don't just defend; attack!" Aldrich ordered, his sword slicing into D's shoulder. "And close your wound!"

"It'll heal soon enough," D growled, focusing all his energy on resisting the overwhelming downward pressure of his uncle's blade. Aldrich frowned, and then vanished. Before D realized what had happened, the vampire had reappeared behind him and hit him across the back with the flat of his sword. D went tumbling through the air and crashed into the ground, sliding several yards from the force of the blow. He rolled over just in time to be hauled to his feet by the front of his shirt.

"Look, I'm not trying to traumatize you," Aldrich said, narrowing his cold eyes at D. "But you really must learn a few things, and I believe it's best to push the bird out of the nest, so to speak." He shoved his nephew backwards and with two gleaming arcs of his sword he sliced open both of D's arms from wrist to elbow. "In this line of work, you'll find yourself losing blood quite frequently, so you may as well get used to it," he said conversationally, kicking D's sword out of reach. D swayed, light-headed from the sudden blood loss, and fell to his knees. Aldrich rolled his eyes and knelt beside him, holding up one of D's arms. "Now watch closely, and not just with your eyes," the vampire instructed, and traced the wound with his index finger, sealing it instantly. D didn't really understand what had happened, but he nodded and tried to copy the cure on this other arm. He drew his fingertip along the length of the bleeding gash, and to his surprise, the wound closed instantaneously. "Good." Aldrich smiled, his wine-colored eyes gleaming. "It seems the fledgling will survive."

* * *

A/N: yup, another feeble attempt to include something from the books… I loved that scene where D opened and then closed a wound just by drawing his finger across his skin, and of course when he licked the stray drop of blood off his finger—that made me a very happy little fangirl. drool… 


	17. Aldrich

Chapter 17: Aldrich

The girl's white hand trembled uncontrollably, held uncertainly in the air as if imploring an unseen bystander for rescue. The vampire gently curved his own hand around hers, and held it down against the floor, suppressing its violent quivering. In another moment she would be at peace… forever. The vampire smiled as he watched the light grow dim in her wide blue eyes. Of the seven sisters in this house, she had been the sweetest after all. Complimenting himself for saving her for last, he smoothed her hair away from her lovely face, admiring the last few drops of blood trickling from the wound at her throat.

"_He's here!_" the frantic cry from outside broke the vampire's reverie, and his head snapped up angrily. He heard the sound of running footsteps and the crackling _roosh_ of torches. Compliments turned to curses in his mind as the vampire realized that he was caught. He could tell just by listening for a few seconds that the house was surrounded. How clever of the humans, to sacrifice the girl as bait… yet his own stupidity had allowed the trap to work. He had been too obvious about his choice of victim. Of course when the other six sisters 'died in their sleep' one by one over the past few months, someone was bound to figure it out.

The vampire's annoyance turned to instant fury as he realized that the girl was dead, and he had missed the beautiful instant of transition.

"Damn," he muttered, quickly wiping his bloody mouth on his sleeve. He picked the girl up and returned her to her bed. For a moment his eyes hovered over her features, and then he glanced up at the crucifix on the wall above her head. He reached up and took the cross off the wall, not minding that it burned his fingers. Ceremoniously he laid the crucifix between the girl's breasts, and folded her limp hands across her chest on top of it. She made such a pretty picture that way. "Goodnight, my dear," he muttered, and leaned down to kiss the dead girl's lips.

The huge black bird that burst through the thatched roof of the cottage didn't make it far before a dozen arrows impaled it. Twisting and flailing in the sky, more arrows piercing it from all angles, the giant raven began an ungainly descent. As a formless black bundle it slammed into the earth, and a slender, two-legged shape rose in its place. Tearing arrows from his torso, the vampire began to run, and the angry mob gave chase. By the time the fleeing creature made it to the edge of the woods, there were four long arrows protruding from his back, and he cried out as another well-aimed arrow went through his knee. Angrily he snapped off the back of the arrow, and drew it out from the front. Limping for a only a few steps, he continued to run, but the humans had seen the delay caused by the arrow, and seconds later the expert archer repeated his shot, skewering the same knee for a second time. As the vampire reached down to remove it, he was shot through the other knee, and then an arrow speared the base of his neck. Paralyzed, he collapsed forward. The arrowheads were all of pure silver. Overcome by pain and rage, he awaited his destruction.

The humans thought it fitting to nail his body to an ancient, stout hawthorn tree right there in the forest, wrapping his arms around the trunk behind him. They were quite generous with their use of long silver nails, and they wrapped garlands of wild roses and wolfsbane around him, tying them tightly around his hands and feet and draping necklaces of the plants around his neck. An old woman arrived with a sack of salt, and for half an hour the humans occupied themselves by throwing it at the vampire, the hawthorn tree, and all over the ground. When all the salt was spilt, the enthusiasm of the crowd waned, and then someone remembered that in order to really defeat the vampire, they would have to find its grave and consecrate its empty coffin before dawn. One worried man asked whether they should cut off the trapped vampire's head first, or cut out his heart, before they went searching for an empty coffin. The others assured him that the impending sunrise would finish the creature, and someone else mentioned that removing the head or heart might allow the evil spirit to escape the body, in which case it would proceed directly back to its grave and survive to seek revenge. After a brief argument, they concluded that leaving the vampire's body trapped yet intact was the proper course of action, and they decided to spend the rest of the waning darkness searching for the creature's coffin.

It was perhaps three hours after sunrise. Unable to move, the vampire had no choice but to endure the relentless assault of the light. He groaned, wishing he would burst into flames, so to end his misery and humiliation. He knew it was useless; he was far too strong. The sunlight hurt him, but it would not destroy him in his present state. If he were to go without nourishment for long enough, he'd burn like any normal vampire. But like this… it would be months before he died. He wondered briefly why the humans hadn't returned to finish him off.

He shut his eyes tightly against the unforgiving sun, painfully aware of every bit of silver invading his flesh and preventing him from healing. His many wounds alternated between aching and stinging. The hallowed hawthorn wood made his back and arms itch and prickle. The aroma of the roses and wolfsbane sickened him, but mixed with it he caught another scent, and opened his eyes to see a small, yellow-haired human child standing in the wood about a hundred yards in front of him. The vampire watched the child with interminable hunger. Even though he had fed less than twelve hours previously, his present discomfort made him crave the reassurance of blood. Solemnly the child approached and the vampire realized it was a little girl about four years old.

"Hello," the child said, stopping about twenty feet away.

"What do you want?" snarled the vampire.

"Are you tied up to that tree?" asked the little girl.

"Yes."

"How come?" the girl blinked at him solemnly. Her cerulean eyes reminded him of the young woman he'd killed the previous night.

"Because I was bad," the vampire sneered.

"oh."

Just looking at her, he wanted nothing more than to drain her life from her tiny, fragile throat. She was so lovely, so irresistibly flawless and petite, like a doll. Mentally the vampire swore to eat nothing but children for the next twenty years, once he managed to escape from his current predicament.

"I like your flowers," the child told him. It amused him that there didn't seem to be the least bit of shyness in the girl, nor the least bit of fear.

"You may take them if you wish," the vampire said, trying not to sound overly hopeful.

"What is your name?" asked the girl.

"Raven," the vampire replied.

"_Hraban?_" repeated the girl. "That is a bird."

"You're a smart little girl. Now, how would you like to take these flowers…"

"But you're not a bird!" the girl exclaimed.

"What if I could turn into a bird?"

"Well, then you could have that name. But not when you was _not _turned into one. Will you be my friend?"

The vampire forced himself to hide his nasty sneer. "I'll be your _best_ friend if you like," he said, trying to keep his voice even.

"My best friend died. His name is Aldrich. Can I call you that?"

"Certainly. Call me whatever you want. Anyway, about these pretty flowers--"

"My name is Hannelore," the child said, interrupting him.

The vampire nearly gnashed his teeth at her, but with the briefest flare in his dark red eyes, he stifled his impatience. "What a lovely name," he said. "Tell me… What are you doing out in the woods all by yourself, Hannelore?"

"I like it here," the child answered. "But there's nobody to play with."

"What a pity. _I _would play with you, if I weren't tied to this tree," the vampire offered. For a moment the little girl stared at him.

"Aldrich, do you think maybe I can untie you?" she asked solemnly, blinking her wide, sky-like eyes.

"That would be wonderful," Raban said, suppressing his excitement at the prospect of freedom. "First of all, take the flowers away."

Obediently the little girl began to pull apart the garlands of wild roses and wolfsbane. She cleared them away from his feet, and then moved behind the tree, to untie his hands.

"Oh no!" she exclaimed in dismay.

"What?" the vampire asked, unable to see whatever it was that had startled her.

"Your hands and arms have got lots of nails in them!" the child replied, distressed.

"Yes, well, never mind that," Raban said, as Hannelore came back around the tree to face him. "Just get rid of those flowers, if you please." She stared up at him, her face troubled. Her expression annoyed the vampire. "What's the matter with you?" he asked, struggling not to sound angry.

"Does they hurt you, Aldrich?" Hannelore asked.

For some reason Raban decided to be honest. "Very much," he told her, sighing.

Then the little girl did something completely unexpected. She took a few steps towards him, looking up at his pale, sharp-featured face. The vampire was taken aback as she held up her thin little arms, and then wrapped them about his legs.

"I'm sorry," she muttered sincerely, hugging his knees. "I'm really sorry for you."

Raban was stunned. For thousands of years, humans had feared, hated, and even occasionally envied him. But none had ever _pitied_ him. The effect was more paralyzing than that of the roses and wolfsbane. He was filled with sudden revulsion, and he desperately wanted to hide from the child and her innocent, overwhelming, excruciating sympathy.

"I wish nobody had did this to you," Hannelore muttered fervently. "If you were bad, they should have just forgived you."

Raban was speechless.

* * *

"So how did you get free?"

Aldrich seemed mesmerized by the book in front of him and didn't reply. Sitting on a dusty couch on the other side of the castle library, D repeated his question.

"Did the little girl manage to free you?"

Aldrich looked up. "Oh, yes," he said distractedly.

"And then what happened?" D asked, annoyed that his uncle had stopped in the middle of the story.

"I kidnapped her," Aldrich replied evenly, looking back at his book.

"And then?" D prompted. "Did you kill her?"

Aldrich nodded. "Eventually," he said good-naturedly.

"When did all that happen?"

"Hmm… ninth century. Bavaria… yes, middle of the ninth century." The old vampire closed his book and looked at D coolly. "I told you this story because I want you to learn from it," he said. "Vampires are…conscious of pity. But we ourselves are pitiless. And so it is _useless_ to show mercy to a vampire."

D's face remained expressionless, but Aldrich knew that his words were sinking in. "You have pity and compassion within you," he continued. "You have the ability to show mercy. But as a hunter, you must rid yourself of kindness. Pitying your quarry will have no effect."

For the first time in the three years he'd been living in the cathedral, D smiled. "You might be wrong," he said.

Aldrich tilted his head slightly to one side, curious. "Wrong?"

"Hannelore's pity affected you."

"What makes you think that?"

"_Aldrich_." Still smiling faintly, D left the library.

* * *

A/N: ok… this chapter is one of my favorites, but I bet that nobody else will even understand it! I love the idea of a vampire nailed/tied to a hawthorn tree, with a little girl trying to comfort him. Kind of disturbing isn't it? …anyway, obviously there was some random vampire lore in this chapter. _Hraban_ really is the old German word for raven. Aldrich's history: Basically, he kidnapped Hannelore, let her grow up, and fell in love with her, and it was her love that 'changed' him, (remember that reference in the other chapter? No? oh well.) but of course he still killed her and all her children. Sigh! 


	18. In Control

Chapter 18: In Control

Naumburg, Germany 1945

Aldrich appeared silently on the stairs and immediately drew his sword. The sound stopped D in his tracks.

"It's over now," Aldrich remarked neutrally, gazing idly at the flame of one of torches affixed to the stone wall. Slowly D turned around. He was about a dozen steps below his uncle. "The Wacht Am Rhein has failed. Germany's lost the war."

D didn't say anything. His uncle took one step towards him.

"It is as I expected," Aldrich said calmly. "Evil cannot prevail. Draw."

"What?" D asked, startled. His sword hadn't left his side for four years now, but he still felt caught off guard. Aldrich's eyes gleamed like cold red glass. He smiled wickedly at D, showing his fangs. D put his hand to the hilt of his sword uncertainly.

"Kill me," Aldrich commanded.

D stared at him, dumbfounded. "I thought you wanted to do that all by yourself," D pointed out awkwardly.

"_Good_ is rising in the world like a wave, gathering strength in order to wash away the evil bred by this cursed country, and I want to be washed away with it," Aldrich said, his tone as even as always. "As you know, I haven't fed in over fifty years. Most vampires can die whenever they please by stepping out in the daylight. But I am the second most powerful vampire in the world, and killing myself is not so easy. In fact, it might be impossible." He smiled. "But at least I will be decent practice for you, as your first kill." He looked at D approvingly. "You'll do a lot of good for the world. Now it's time to start. You are ready."

D sensed deadly seriousness in the vampire's voice, and wordlessly he unsheathed his sword. The keen note of resonating metal hung high and piercing in the air between them, fading out in echoes up and down the stairs.

A blast of air extinguished all the torches on the walls, plunging the staircase into complete darkness, and Aldrich attacked. D parried the first few strikes, constantly stepping backwards down the stairs.

"I have one more story to tell you," Aldrich said, easily dodging D's sword, and pressing his attack. "It's about my daughter Isadora."

D didn't like being forced down the stairs so he leapt into the air, over his uncle, and landed on the stairs above him, ducking and spinning around just in time to avoid being slashed across the back. Now it was D who had the advantage, and he brought his blade screaming down. Aldrich turned and held his sword over his shoulder, horizontal to the ground, catching the attack. "She was my only half-breed child who I _didn't_ kill," he continued. The crossed blades quivered but neither slipped an inch. Aldrich readjusted his grip and then let go with his left hand, simultaneously reforming his entire left arm into a six-foot wing.

The enormous raven's wing swept D off his feet, hurling him into the wall. Grunting, D pushed off from the stones and crossed swords with the vampire in the same instant, sparks leaping from the steel. "By the time I found out she existed, she had already married a human and created my one and only human grandchild."

"_What?_" D looked up, and his sword faltered.

"Pay attention," Aldrich reprimanded, automatically nicking D's chin with the tip of his blade. Angrily D wiped his hand over his chin. It was a tiny scratch, but it was the first time he'd been distracted enough to allow his uncle to cut him in nearly a year. "And watch your emotions," Aldrich added patiently, noticing the aggression that now fueled D's actions. "Anyway, you heard me correctly. The grandchild was human. Completely normal. But Isadora, of course, had the usual susceptibilities."

D's sword arced over his head and Aldrich spun gracefully to meet it, jumping up so that he and D were on the same stair. With their weapons crossed at an impasse above their heads, Aldrich leaned in so his face was quite close to D's.

"I was going to kill her," he said, locking eyes with the dhampir. "But before I had the chance, Isadora fainted from sunlight in the middle of the town. In his hurry to revive her, the husband accidentally gave away her secret."

Simultaneously, they both bent their elbows, lowering the X of their blades between them, and stepping in so they were even closer.

"They staked her to the door of the church," Aldrich continued.

Gritting his teeth, D changed his stance and forced Aldrich's blade down, but his movements were too predictable- suddenly Aldrich had stabbed him through the wrist, and pulled his sword sharply sideways, cutting all the way through D's right hand between the second and third fingers. D cried out as his sword was wrenched from his hands and went clattering down the stairs.

Aldrich sheathed his sword with one smooth motion as D clutched his bleeding hand, concentrating furiously on healing it. "As for the baby," Aldrich said calmly, "they staked him up on top of his mother. Drove the same stake through both of their hearts."

"That's awful. Just what am I to learn from _that?_" D asked darkly, annoyed that he had been beaten so easily.

"You don't understand their terror. Even if you spend your life helping them, humans will try to kill you if they know what you are," Aldrich reminded him evenly.

"I _know_," D muttered, his frustration obvious. Aldrich studied him calmly. The dhampir was amazingly insightful, and Aldrich had personally supervised most of his education concerning the horrors of vampirism. D had seen plenty of those horrors with his own eyes. He had been thoroughly taught, and Aldrich had full confidence in his nephew's reasoning and motivation. D believed that vampires were to be exterminated because they were evil. But Aldrich realized that _logic_ was inadequate, sometimes even inapplicable, when dealing with vampires… and suddenly he knew what D was lacking.

"You have knowledge but not understanding." There was a twinge of regret in the old vampire's voice. He snapped his fingers to rekindle the torches. Orange lights sprang to life up and down the stairs. "You still do not fully comprehend the abyss that lies between the two species, and your own tenuous position therein. You have been to the brink of one world, but did not fall in. Now I see I must show you the brink of the other world. Learn from this- learn why the humans fear us. Experience their terror."

"What do you mean?" D asked, a vague sense of dread creeping in around him. Was Aldrich going to try to _frighten_ him? He'd been introduced to all manner of demons during the past few years, and he didn't want to imagine what sort of nightmarish creature the vampire would conjure up in this situation.

Aldrich pulled his sword from his belt and held it out in front of him. "You'll be needing this," he said conversationally, and mutely D accepted the proffered weapon. "You've been a good student. Now- heed my final instruction: _Kill me_."

D hesitated, and in that instant of hesitation his perpetually calm, rationalizing teacher became a savage blur, driving him backwards into the wall. D felt the air forced from his lungs at the unexpected impact. He didn't have time or room to draw the sword. A cold, iron-like hand smashed into his face, turning his head to the side and pinning it to the wall. For a split second he struggled, and then came the horrifying realization that the vampire was ten times stronger than him after all. He was trapped. He heard a swift ripping sound and realized that his coat and shirt had been torn open at the collar.

Suddenly his instincts told him what was about to happen, and genuine terror rose in his heart. _No- he wouldn't-- _D thought desperately.

Cold teeth sank into his neck. D shut his eyes, grimacing, unable to move, unable to categorize his emotions. Hatred, outrage, _horror_… he felt his blood flowing out of him; sensed the inevitable transfer of his life force to the evil creature. His own heartbeat was deafening. After only a few seconds he felt himself weakening and his fear dissipated, revealing with perfect clarity his only chance for survival.

It wasn't a conscious decision on his part, but the dark magic came to him once more, and D welcomed it. The tumultuous power welled up around him, and willingly he borrowed from it.

Aldrich shuddered as jagged black lightning sizzled angrily around him. Drunkenly, he tore himself away from D and staggered backwards, blood trickling from the corner of his mouth. "_What?_" he hissed, his eyes flashing furiously.

D brought his hand up to the bleeding wounds in his neck and held it there, the currents of magical energy coiling around him in a dark sphere. Suddenly he knew that the magic had always been there for his taking, just beyond his consciousness. He could reach below the surface at will to direct its power, but not without a price. It took all of his strength, both physical and mental, to hold the torrent in check. This time, it would _not _rage beyond his control. Gritting his teeth, he forced the dark energy away from himself, projecting it out like an explosion.

Aldrich fell to his knees, rocked by the blast. He hunched his shoulders as a fierce wind tore at him, and then just as soon as it had appeared, the storm of magic vanished.

Gasping for breath, his hand gripping his throat with blood still dripping between his fingers, D slumped against the wall. Aldrich stared at him like a cat whose mouse had suddenly turned into a wolf. The torches crackled quietly, their light fluttering on the stones. For a moment vampire and dhampir regarded one another in silence. Then Aldrich threw his head back and laughed.

The sound grew distant and then cut out entirely as D slid to the floor, unconscious.

* * *

Drifting in darkness, D felt his strength returning. He opened his eyes to see several planks of petrified wood only about a foot above his face. Confused, D glanced to either side and saw more planks of petrified wood boxing him in on every side. Stifling his panic, he pressed his palms to low roof, and pushed upwards with all his might. The lid of the coffin came up easily, and he heaved it aside and scrambled out, his heart pounding. He covered his heart with hand, relieved. If he still had a heartbeat, he hadn't been turned into a vampire. He sensed that he was being watched and spun around. 

Aldrich was sitting patiently in a chair on the other side of the room. The sight of those cold red eyes made D's skin prickle. He still couldn't believe the old vampire had actually bitten him. The memory of it was sickening.

"I take it you don't like coffins," Aldrich remarked neutrally.

"I've never been in one before," D admitted, unnerved.

"Well, it worked. You were only in there for half an hour. I figured that would be the best way to revive you." Aldrich smirked. "You seem surprised."

"I thought you were going to kill me."

Aldrich shook his head. "You needed to experience that kind of fear. You'd gotten too comfortable around me. I had to wake you up somehow." He smiled. "And it worked. That's quite an impressive birthright you've got. There's not a vampire anywhere whose power can match _that_."

"I can think of one," D muttered.

Aldrich shook his head. "Not even _he_ can shirk destiny forever."

"I don't like the word 'destiny'," D said.

"That's exactly why you're the _perfect_ hunter," Aldrich said excitedly. "What a cruel fate. No one but _you_ can handle the task, don't you see? You will be the most miserable of creatures, tortured and alone for eternity, walking the narrow margin between night and day. You'll suffer every step of the way. But I daresay you'll complete your mission."

"Mission," D repeated coldly.

"To kill the all the vampires, of course," Aldrich said, rising to his feet. "Starting with me." His sword was propped against the back of his chair, and he tossed it to D. D caught it, and was reminded of his first encounter with Aldrich.

"Aldrich. If you killed yourself… it would be a good thing," D said softly.

"That's why I don't think I'll be able to manage it after all," the vampire replied wearily.

"But… it's what you _want_ to do, isn't it?" D asked.

Aldrich's dark wine-colored eyes glinted uncertainly. "_Can_ a creature like me truly want to do good?" It was a sincere question.

"I'll help you find out," D replied softly, resolutely walking towards the vampire. He raised the sword and brought the tip of the blade to rest just above the vampire's heart. Aldrich's expression was completely calm, and somewhat amused. "Go ahead," D told him quietly. "End your life, if it's what you want."

"Thank you," Aldrich said simply, and smoothly stepped forward onto the blade of his own sword. He automatically grabbed the blade with both hands as it speared his heart. His ashen face remained calm, and slowly he closed his eyes. He leaned forward. "I am… sorry," he murmured, and D thought he saw a tear slip down the vampire's pale cheek- but then the entire body disintegrated, bursting into a cloud of ash and black feathers.

Even before all the feathers had time to float down to the floor, a tremor like an earthquake shook the room. Then D remembered with a start that once the vampire was dead, the vampire's enchanted castle would crumble. If he was still inside it when it collapsed, D would have to dig through nearly 200 feet of earth to get up to the surface. He wasn't exactly fond of the idea. Taking Aldrich's sword with him, he bolted for the stairs.

* * *

Author's Note: Well! You know I loved Aldrich (and hopefully you didn't mind him either) but it is time for the story to move on. There is only one more important new character that D has to meet, and after that, we'll have some angst, and then of course THE fight scene. There are only a few chapters left, and I am not sure when I will have time to post them. Thanks for reading so far, and please review! 


	19. Slings and Arrows

Author's note: I'm back! I really appreciate all the reviews and I apologize for the long wait! I finally bought the third VHD novel, "Demon Deathchase", but I haven't started it yet. The books make me laugh. If I write another VHD story after this, it will be a parody of the novels. Ok, back to the story: In this chapter we meet the final new character. It's still January 1945, immediately after the conclusion of the previous chapter.

* * *

Chapter 19: Slings and Arrows

"That was so _Shakespearean_," D's hand commented as D rode away from Naumburg in the frigid pre-dawn light. D didn't answer.

"Why so gloomy?" the demon asked. "Come on, talk to me! You're not feeling _ill_, are you? You haven't been _poisoned_, have you? Because, if you die, I've got dibs on the 'goodnight sweet prince' line!"

"You've got it wrong," D said softly, knowing it was a mistake to get involved in this kind of conversation. "Claudius didn't _want_ to die."

"But he was evil and deserved it anyway!"

D frowned slightly. "I think I should also point out that Aldrich never killed my father or married my mother. In terms of Shakespeare, Aldrich was more like Brutus."

"You're saying he was _honorable_? 'This was the noblest Vampire of them all'?" the demon cackled gleefully. "Aw, that's touching."

D closed his eyes halfway, and then spoke in a very calm, mature voice: "Brutus said, 'Our enemies have beat us to the pit. It is more worthy to leap in ourselves, than tarry till they push us.' That's the same as what Aldrich believed."

"But it was Strato who held Brutus's sword, and Strato wasn't a prince," the demon pointed out smugly. D merely sighed. "Anyway where are we going?" the gruff voice asked.

"I don't know," D replied wearily.

"Shame on you for forgetting Ophelia," the hand said, clearly hoping to instigate an argument. Annoyed, D held his palm up so he could glare at the parasite's shriveled face.

"Your analogy is completely off-base," the dhampir said coolly. "But I haven't forgotten her. However, it's been almost twenty years... By now, I hope, _she_ has forgotten _me_."

"Unlikely," muttered the hand. "You're going to have to face her again sometime, and you know it. It may be a sore subject with you, but she deserves an apology. Come on, now that the war's winding down, let's make our way across Europe, merrily hunting vampires as we go, until we make it back to England. What do you say?"

D said nothing.

"You always say that," grumbled the demon.

* * *

In truth, D was uncertain about where he should go and what he should do now that his 'training' had come to such an abrupt conclusion. The horse was walking steadily down the snowy road, taking D further away from the timeless cathedral and closer to the frenetic human world with every step. D had read every book in his uncle's library and listened carefully to every sad, rambling history lesson, but he was certain that there was much more to learn, especially about magic and demons. Aldrich was fond of saying that experience was the best education, and so perhaps now it was time for D to venture out in search of experience. 

For the past five years, D had lived in the world he had known in his early childhood: the world of torches and candles that lit and extinguished themselves with a mere gesture or glance, the world of beings that walked through walls, a world where mirrors held no reflections. In that secluded world, the cycles of the sun and moon had no relevance to the passage of time. How many times does a human blink in a day? For a vampire to judge the passage of time by the sun and moon would be as tedious and as ridiculous as a human measuring his days by counting his blinks.

And yet during those five years, each 'blink', each day that passed in the human world held incredible significance. The cocoon left by the Great War finally burst open, revealing a new creature with seemingly inexhaustible capabilities. Mechanized armies raced over entire continents. Bombed cities burned day after day, night after night. Entire populations shifted and scattered, were uprooted and exterminated. Ships the size of cities were built in days and the entire Pacific Ocean became a battlefield. Airplanes clawed through the skies _above_ the Himalayas as submarines prowled the depths of the seas.

And as if the physical and mechanical dimensions of the war weren't staggering enough, scientists and doctors invented new ways to kill more people with less effort than had ever been imagined. The war had unleashed human malice and human genius on an unprecedented scale, and the world was changed.

D knew about all of that. He knew about current events; he knew that the Germans had finally lost the great battle in the frozen Ardennes, and so now the war would end. But D _didn't_ know if he could function in the human world now. He didn't know if he could keep up with the swiftness of technological progress. He felt that he was already an artifact of the past. There was something comfortable about being submerged in the mystical, old-fashioned world of his heritage, and the differences between that world and the one that lay before him now seemed too great to reconcile. Perhaps D had been too young or too preoccupied to realize it before, but now he understood that _this_ was the dilemma his father had encountered, the one which had prompted the Vampire King to summon a hundred Nobles to his castle to plot a course for the future.

The future…

D stared straight ahead as snow began to fall. His horse sighed, its breath creating large, curling clouds of steam. D looked up, and saw the faint wisps of his own breath diffuse softly into the cold air. It was actually a rather encouraging sight. He was alive, as much as you could be when you were never going to die-- at least, he was more alive than the vampires, and if _they _could adapt to the times, well, so could D. He had a purpose for existing now, so he _would_ make himself at home in the modern world after all—and he would hunt vampires.

The horse seemed to sense that D had reached a decision, for the animal picked up its pace just a bit. D gazed idly at the horse's furry ears, wondering if living in the modern world would require him to learn to drive an automobile any time soon.

Suddenly something didn't feel right.

D's eyes narrowed and he peered cautiously into the snowy forest on either side of the road. He had no idea what it was that was making him so uneasy. And then, before he could think of a good reason for it, he reacted to his instincts and leapt up out of his saddle. He traveled easily at least twenty feet up in the air, and did a back flip, landing lightly in a crouching position on the ground a good distance behind the horse-- just in time to have his face splattered with tiny droplets of blood as the horse was riddled with exploding rounds from a machine gun.

The deafening rattle of the gun died away practically in the same instant it began, and the silent forest absorbed the remnants of the sound before D had time to determine which direction it had come from. D realized that Aldrich's sword, which had been slung across his back, was now in his hand. He had automatically drawn the weapon as he jumped off the horse. The animal collapsed, and D knew that it was already dead from the smell of its blood, which was quickly spreading towards him through the snow.

D forced himself to ignore the distracting sight of the horse's amply-bleeding carcass. Where was the gun? Why had it stopped firing? Why had it fired at all? D focused on the farthest reaches of all his senses, but there was nothing. The snow continued to float down passively around him, landing mutely on his hat, his shoulders, the dead horse… by now more than half of the horse's ten gallons of blood had leaked from its tattered body and into the snow.

Suddenly the dark silhouette of a man appeared barely a hundred yards down the road. Once D saw him, he found that he could hear and smell him, too, and D knew that the man was human, but there had been no sign of him an instant earlier. The man had one hand in the pocket of his heavy winter coat, and in his other hand he held a strange-looking rifle. Slowly, almost casually, the man raised the weapon and pointed it at D.

The instant the gun fired, D rolled to the side, but it didn't do any good. Because instead of a projectile, a colorless flash of something like lightning burst from the weapon, and was drawn to D like a nail to a powerful magnet. Stunned by something akin to electricity, but almost definitely magical in nature, D dropped, paralyzed, beside the body of the horse. He heard the crisp crunch of snow under boots as the man approached.

"What the hell!" D's hand hissed angrily, the demon's face materializing. D tried to say something but was unable to speak. The face in his hand clenched its teeth in determination. "How did you get yourself into this situation? Ugh, never mind. You've got to get your strength back _now!_"

The sound of the footsteps crunching the snow was getting louder.

"Look, I'm going to help you," the demon said hurriedly. "So you better cooperate. Let's go!" Moving of its own accord, D's left hand flopped forward in the snow. All D could do was stare.

D had no idea what was going on- he was lying paralyzed in the snow, staring sideways at the dark, awkward shape of his dead horse, and the man who had shot him was probably going to finish him off with a stake through the heart any minute now. His possessed hand, meanwhile, was dragging itself inch by inch away from his body. Where on earth did the damned demon think it was going? If it was trying to flee, it wasn't going to get any further than an arm's length away. D watched, oddly fascinated, as his fingers dug into the dark red snow. He couldn't even feel the snow- his limbs were completely numb. Now that the demon had managed to gather a handful of the blood-soaked snow, it began to move itself back towards D's chest. The hand moved in spastic jerks, but it was making progress.

From the sound of the footsteps, the man was still about fifty yards away. D's hand came to rest directly in front of his face. The fingers were curled around the frozen blood, so D couldn't see the demon's face as it spoke to him. "All right, listen up," it panted. "This is just some watered-down horse blood, understand? _Horse_ blood. I don't know what kind of spell you're under, but I _know_ you can get out of it. You are way stronger than this magic, D, but at the moment you're at a physical disadvantage and you need a little help. I know you're going to hate me for this, but please, _open your mouth_!"

Under the circumstances, D felt it was probably in his best interest to do as the parasitic demon asked. He tried with all his might to open his mouth, but his lips seemed frozen together, his jaw locked. His eyes trembled from the effort of trying to move, just trying to do that one small thing… but his mouth remained shut.

"Hurry up, D!" the hand pleaded desperately.

"My God, are you actually still awake?" the man asked in a youthful, heavily accented voice as he came to a stop directly behind D. "Hmm," the man said, taking a few more steps so that he could see D's face. He saw the bloody snow clenched in D's hand, and shook his head in wide-eyed amazement. "Helping yourself to a bit of breakfast there?" he asked the paralyzed dhampir. D's left hand twitched. "That's really _quite_ impressive," the man commented pleasantly, and rolled D's wrist under his foot until the hand was palm-up on the ground. Then he pressed the muzzle of his gun into the palm of D's left hand, and pulled the trigger.

* * *

When D woke up the first thing he realized was that he was underground. The second thing he realized was that he was held in place by a something around his neck. He was relieved to find that he could move his hands and arms again, and he brought them up to discover that the thing around his neck was a kind of heavy metal collar that was attached to the wall behind his head. He was in a tiny cube of a room with concrete walls and two metal doors. He was about to ask his hand if it was all right and if it had any more brilliant ideas about how to get them out of their current predicament, but just then one of the door handles creaked, and the man who had shot D stepped into the room. He was still wearing his winter coat and D could smell horse blood on his boots, which meant that D hadn't been unconscious for very long. And that meant they couldn't have traveled very far. D stared at the man, who stood before him, just out of reach. He was perhaps in his late twenties, of average height and build, with bright white-blond hair cut quite short. His eyes were startlingly pale yellow in color. 

"Well, how do you do?" the young man asked, smiling amicably. "I'm Amadeus Hesselius, but everyone calls me Hess for short. My mum positively hates it, but fortunately she's not present at the moment."

"Hesselius," D repeated.

"Yes, exactly," Hess said, smiling. "I presume you've heard of us?" D made no reply so Hess went on, almost babbling: "My family has been hunting vampires in Europe for three and a half centuries now, but I must say, _you're_ the most valuable catch anyone's made in a while, even if you are just a half-breed."

D was not impressed by Hess's cheerful tone of voice. "You killed my horse," he muttered dangerously.

"Ah," the young man said, clasping his hands behind his back. "Under the circumstances, I felt it was prudent to do so, but perhaps I misjudged. Either way, the poor creature certainly didn't _deserve_ to die, so you have my sincerest apologies. I'll be sure to notify the next of kin."

D's face remained as expressionless as stone.

"Hmm," Hess said, when it was obvious that D was not amused by his attempt at a joke. "Sorry about that. I've found that a morbid sense of humor is actually quite useful in this line of work. Do you have one, by chance?"

"Have what?" D asked.

"A morbid sense of humor," Hess said, as nonchalantly as if he were asking for a light for a cigarette.

D thought of the parasite in his hand. "More or less," he grumbled.

"And obviously _less_, at the moment." The young man smiled. "But never mind that, let me explain why you're here. For the past ten years, there's been a desperate contest amongst us vampire hunters to capture you. The prize, of course, is a lordly sum of money- which, ironically, is probably going to come out of _your_ pocket."

D blinked, feeling depressed. Just as soon as he'd mustered some optimism about becoming a vampire hunter himself, he'd ended up as easy prey instead. "Who sponsored the contest?" D heard himself asking, although he felt he already knew. It was either his father, or-

"Ms. Samantha Rowntree," Hess informed him.

* * *

Yet Another Note: I know this was a weird chapter but I had to get D to interact with human vampire hunters somehow. If you're a vampire lore-lover, you already know that Doctor Hesselius, from the 1872 story _Carmilla_, was Bram Stoker's inspiration for Abraham Van Helsing. Oh, and for the record, I love Shakespeare but I _hate_ Hamlet. D has _nothing_ in common with that miserable sulking lunatic except perhaps those couple of lines in the monologue from whence this chapter derives its title. The next chapter contains a final bout of humor before we begin to wrap up the serious issues. Hopefully it will be posted within a week! 


	20. Blood and Lust

Chapter 20: Blood and Lust

D sighed faintly.

"I take it you've made an acquaintance of this lady?" Hess asked with polite curiosity. D didn't reply, and the young man gave a disappointed smile. "Well then. I suppose it's none of my business." He nodded to D and turned towards the door.

"Wait," D said softly, and Hess looked back at him expectantly. "You've captured me, but what happens next? Will you kill me?"

"Goodness, no. Ms. Rowntree made it very clear that you're to be kept alive. I'll take you to her as soon as I can arrange for secure transportation. I'm afraid I haven't the resources to keep you sedated, and I shan't allow you to escape."

"I won't try to escape," D said.

Hess's pale eyes blinked several times. Normally he would laugh at such a statement from his prey, but something in the solemn dhampir's voice made the young man think twice. "Is there any reason I ought to actually believe that?" he asked, sounding vaguely amused.

"If Samantha wanted to see me again so badly, she could've just sent a letter," D muttered.

"Perhaps she didn't know your address," Hess said coolly. "Yes, I'm _sure_ that's the reason the woman posted such an astronomical reward for your capture, soliciting the efforts of every vampire hunter in Europe."

"But that really wasn't necessary," D said. "I don't know why she did it."

Hess shrugged. "Maybe you killed her husband or maybe just her pet cat, but for whatever reason, she wants you delivered like a parcel to her doorstep. I really don't give a piss about her reasons, as long as I get paid."

D gazed at him coldly. "You may not believe me, but now that I know all this, I intend to meet Samantha again as soon as I can. And I'd much prefer to arrive on my own rather than as someone's prisoner. So how about I make you a deal?"

"Of course." Hess grinned cheerfully. "I knew you'd get around to that. You're all so predictable! You young ones get into a corner and think you can bribe your way out of it. You must think we're all fools. If I take whatever money you're going to offer me, and actually let you go, here's exactly what will happen: you won't get another mile down the road before those damned Van Helsing people catch you, and they'll turn you over to the Rowntree woman and claim not only the prize money, but also the damned bragging rights. Yours is a very high-profile hunt, and therefore the 'winner' will be sure to attract all the wealthiest clients from now on. Simply put, making a deal with you would be bad for business in the long run."

D couldn't think of anything to say to that. Did humans really think of vampire hunting as just another _business_? If that was the case, then perhaps D could offer to finance Hesselius's entire organization. Immediately he discredited the idea. D would work alone-- and if humans hunted vampires merely out of greed, he didn't want anything to do with it.

"Oh dear, I nearly forgot," Hess said. "I know you said you won't try to escape, but in case you change your mind, you should be aware that the metal band around your neck will cut off your head the instant you make an attempt to dismantle or otherwise disarm it. It was designed to handle a full-strength vampire, so it will be twice as easy for it to slice through the neck of a half-breed." The blond man grinned brightly. "Just so you've been warned."

After Hesselius had gone, D pressed his head back against the cold concrete wall and closed his eyes.

"Oww," groaned a raspy voice from D's left hand. "Well. _That_ was extremely unpleasant. I wonder what kind of weapon that was."

"It looks like your wish is coming true," D muttered. "You wanted me to go back to England and apologize to Samantha, and that's exactly what I'm going to do."

"Yeah, but as a prisoner of that obnoxious punk? I'm sorry, D, but that's lame. You can't let people push you around. You gotta show 'em that you do things _your_ way. Lemme have a look at that collar you got on."

Obligingly, D raised his left arm and pressed his palm against the metal band clamped around his neck.

"Damn," mumbled the hand. "The kid wasn't kidding. There's a complex series of blades in here that would take a regular vampire's head off in a flash. But, if you concentrate, it shouldn't be a problem for you."

"What are you talking about? I said I wasn't going to try to escape."

"I never said you _were_. But I do think you should at least free yourself from this stupid device and scare the pants off that punk. I don't like his attitude."

"So what's your suggestion? Should I let this thing cut my head off and then have _you_ try to set it back on really quickly?"

"Don't be a moron," the demon replied, exasperated. "That wouldn't work. I want you to rip this whole thing apart before it slices all the way through your neck."

"Can I do that?" D asked wearily.

"You know you can. With a quick taste of blood in your mouth, you might be able to pull this collar off before it can even scratch you!"

"This is the second time today that you've tried to feed me blood," D remarked. "Only where's it supposed to come from this time?"

"Are you really that dense? Just bite yourself!"

D was suddenly feeling very tired. "I don't want to," he muttered.

"Think of it as training yourself to use your available resources in a tight spot," the hand encouraged. "I'm sure this won't be the first time you find yourself in a situation where a burst of crazy vampire power will come in handy, and maybe even save your life. Come on, go for it!"

Reluctantly, D raised his right hand and glanced at the wrist, completely conscious of the pulse beating there. He already knew exactly what would happen should he taste a drop of his own blood: he would feel an immediate surge of energy, and a wild feeling of utter confidence and the desire to do evil. He would experience once again the horrible and yet empowering feeling of his darker side grasping at the surface of his conscience. And, in that hyperaware state, he would probably be able to react faster than the mechanism holding him captive, and destroy it before it killed him.

Steeling himself for what he was about to do, D brought his hand to his mouth, and then pressed the flesh of his thumb against the point of a sharp canine fang. But before he applied enough pressure to break the skin--

"Argh!" groaned the demon. "Stop, stop. I swear you have no common sense. Don't you think you'll want _both_ hands to pull this thing apart? Get your hand out of your mouth. Bite your tongue like you did that time with Samantha, or bite your lip or something. And the instant you feel that burst of energy, you better direct every last ounce of it into pulling this metal band off your neck. Are we on the same page now?"

"Yes," D said, anxiety replacing his weariness. He gripped the metal collar lightly with both hands, and before he could doubt himself, he clenched his eyes shut and bit into his lower lip.

He didn't wait to revel in the surge of power. The instant the energy washed through him, D tried to break the metal collar as the metal collar tried to slice through his neck. It all happened too quickly for any human to see. The blades made it halfway through before D managed to tear the contraption out of the wall, simultaneously ripping it into two pieces and crushing those pieces like aluminum cans. He slumped against the wall, bleeding profusely from the deep slash across his throat. He heard the awkward sound of the air from his lungs gurgling out of his neck in bloody bubbles. Without a second thought, D traced the bleeding cut around his neck, sealing it instantly as Aldrich had taught him to do. Then he went to the door that Hesselius had exited moments earlier.

The fact that it was unlocked nearly made D smile.

* * *

Two weeks later, in Naples, Amadeus Hesselius was telling everyone the story. But that was because he was drunk, for the third night in a row. 

"Right behind me!" Hess was explaining enthusiastically. "I swear by God above, he was right behind me then. And drenched in blood, too!" He downed the last gulp of whatever was in the tall glass in front of him.

The first half a dozen times he told the story, people either laughed or ignored him. But now they were starting to shoot suspicious glances at D. "All right, Hesselius, you've had enough," D said calmly, standing up from his place at the bar.

"On the contrary," Hess said with a ridiculous smile. "I'll _never_ have enough. I'm only human after all!" he began laughing obnoxiously.

D nodded apologetically to the bartender and dragged Hesselius out into the street. "Listen," he said gruffly, pushing the laughing drunk ahead of him. "We've been here for three days. You told me you had a friend here who would take us to England. Where is he?"

In the two weeks since D had been captured, he and Hesselius had come to an understanding that was very nearly a business relationship. Hess recognized that it was both futile and unnecessary to keep D locked up, and D agreed to let the man escort him to England so that he could claim the prize money. D _had_ been captured, after all, and didn't mind relying on Hess's connections for transportation. D also didn't mind listening to the man babble about his vampire hunting experiences. But what he _did_ mind was the fact that they had traveled from eastern Germany to southern Italy… which did not put them any closer to England.

"Heavens above, man, why are you in such a confounded rush?" Hess said, slurring his words a little. "My friend was delayed a few days in Cairo. Should be here soon though, soon! Can't you relax a little? I know just the thing- Elisabetta's got a sister and I know you've got money to spend. So come with me tonight and enjoy yourself. Enjoy _Napoli!_"

"No," D said quietly. Hess rolled his eyes.

"Why _not_?" he asked dramatically. "I bet the world's never seen such rampant prostitution as this before! I've certainly never imagined anything like it, not in my wildest dreams! Girls everywhere, every girl and woman in the whole city is available. And you, more than anyone, haven't got anything to lose, so I don't understand why you're so opposed. You act pretty naïve at times, but surely someone went to the trouble of explaining to you that you've nothing to fear from disease, so why won't you let yourself have a bit of fun with the _donne e_ _signore_?"

"Go do what you like." D said, barely managing to keep the disgust from his voice. "I'll see you tomorrow."

"Oh, don't go stomping off in a foul mood! Just come drop a few _lire_ and flirt with the girl a little, it'll make her night. She's an absolute princess, they both are! Elisabetta keeps asking if I've any friends."

D stared off down the street, fully aware of the sad reason that Naples had turned to prostitution in the wake of the war: the people saw no other way to survive. Hesselius seemed determined, like so many of the soldiers that filled the city, to take advantage of the situation by making every effort to contract some hideous disease. D felt a heavy burden of pity for these people, for the entire city. He wondered if someday he would be calloused towards humanity, and be able to remain aloof and impassive in the face of such sadness. Somewhere in his heart, he hoped not.

As D contemplated the regrettable plight of the city, Hesselius gave up on convincing the silent dhampir to visit Elisabetta's sister. He clapped a friendly hand to D's arm. "Very well, I suppose I'll leave you to your lurking or whatever it is you've been doing these past few nights. Just don't you go biting anyone, or I'll have to shoot you again."

It was the same warning Hess gave whenever he let D out of his sight, even though D had made it very clear that he didn't engage in that sort of behavior. As usual, the semi-serious threat earned no reaction from D, and with a drunkenly mischievous smile, Hess turned and walked off with his hands in his pockets. D turned and slowly headed in the opposite direction, with the bad feeling that the demon in his hand had been eavesdropping on his conversation.

Sure enough, he hadn't gone far through the chill, damp streets before the parasite spoke up.

"So," the hand remarked. "Not interested in meeting an Italian princess, are you?"

"I don't want to talk about it," D muttered.

"Well that's too bad," the hand snickered with just a little too much gusto. "I can understand why you may not want to 'enjoy _Napoli_, since you feel too sorry for these people to think about anything else, but there might be another problem here. I find it very interesting that a guy as sensitive and charming as yourself has managed to live most of two centuries now and only had two romantic encounters, and--"

"Two?" D couldn't help himself from asking.

"The time you kissed Samantha, and the time you kissed her mother."

"I did not kiss her mother," D said, almost angrily. He couldn't believe that he was allowing this conversation to continue, but he felt compelled to set the record straight. "Tasia kissed _me_, but she was only ten years old at the time, remember?"

"No, I _don't_ remember," the hand said teasingly. "That happened before I met you, you idiot. I only know about it from what _you _remember about it, and you remember it romantically."

D sighed, his expression dark and troubled in the shadows of the streetlamps.

"Anyway," the demon continued gruffly, "as I was saying: As perfectly healthy as your romantic nature appears to be, it amazes me that you've had only _two_ romantic encounters, and no _sexual_ encounters at all."

"Excuse me," D said. "You seem to have forgotten the reason I ran away from Samantha."

"But I _haven't _forgotten that when you left England, you spent thirteen years sulking and brooding, practically _haunting_ various churches. And from what I can piece together, the disastrous incident with Samantha was more of a _violent_ encounter than a sexual one," the hand said, its tone almost taunting.

"What makes you so sure there could be a difference, with something like me?" D muttered darkly.

"Aha!" exclaimed the demon. "I got you to admit it! Some _'thing'_ like you? You're afraid you might be a sexual fiend!" the scratchy voice chuckled, obviously delighted to have made such an awful accusation. D scowled and clenched his hand into a fist, muffling the cackling laughter.

Of course D knew that you didn't _need _vampire ancestry to be a sexual fiend, but he was guessing it probably wouldn't hurt. Actually there was something distinctly sexual about vampirism altogether. D's mouth twitched in disgust. Vampires were just so… slutty.

"Hey, humans can be pretty slutty too, if you haven't noticed," his hand spoke up, very nearly reading his mind.

"I've _noticed_," D assured the demon coldly, making it clear that he wanted the conversation to be over.

"Please don't tell me you're going to confuse normal _human_ sexual desires with vampiric ones. If you plan to live your eternal life repressing ALL your instincts, you're going to be miserable."

"I'm already miserable," D muttered.

The hand sighed gruffly. "Alright, _son_, this is one of those Important Conversations I think we've been putting off a little too long."

"This is one of those conversations we are NOT going to have," D said firmly.

"Hmf," the demon said. "Just tell me this: is it even _possible_ for you to think about sex without getting all bloodthirsty?"

D's mouth remained shut in an expressionless line.

"…okay," his hand conceded. "Maybe I _don't_ want to know the answer to that question after all. But what if you only think about--"

"Look, I'll show you the problem," D said, cutting the demon off. He spotted an attractive, conservatively-dressed young woman waiting for a cab on the street corner, and stalked towards her. She looked up curiously as he approached, a shadow from the shadows. "Hello," D said boldly, deliberately locking eyes with her. The girl's face flushed and her eyes turned glassy. As if in a trance, she gazed dreamily at D's white face.

"_Hello_," she echoed, her heartbeat quickening-- audibly, to D.

"You've never seen me before and you'll never see me again," D told her frankly in lovely Italian. "I'm a complete stranger who might kidnap and torture you."

"_Oh_," the girl said excitedly. "_Yes_!"

D dropped his gaze and the girl's glowing expression instantly darkened in confusion. It was as if she couldn't remember what day of the week it was.

"Forgive me," D muttered without looking up, and walked away. His broad shoulders might have actually slumped a little.

"Hmm…" pondered the demon about half a block later. "Suddenly I've figured it out. You're not the type of guy to take advantage of a girl's involuntary lust for you. That would be about as romantic as tying a shoe. So basically, your only chance for a relationship you'd be comfortable with would be if someday you found a girl who was miraculously immune to your irresistible seductive appeal."

D had reached the end of the street, and found himself gazing out over the dark water of the bay. "You think that will ever happen?" he asked softly.

His hand made a sighing sound as the breeze from the Mediterranean ruffled the hem of D's long coat. From the docks below came the sounds of boats rocking gently at their moorings; the noise of laughter and an out-of-tune piano drifted on the breeze from elsewhere.

"…Nope," the demon concluded at last, sounding defeated. D nodded his head once in grim agreement.

D turned away from the lights of the waterfront. Soon he found a deserted alleyway and disappeared into the night, alone-- as he knew he always would be.


	21. The Challenge

Chapter 21: The Challenge

"By God, I utterly _despise_ this city," Hess exclaimed loudly as he settled himself beside D in the cab. D glanced up at the rear-view mirror and noticed as the driver scowled. At last, D and his human escort had made it to London. They had been traveling together for over a month, and in that time D had observed that Hesselius (though he was brilliant when it came to dealing with vampires) was critically lacking the skills necessary to deal with human beings. D was amazed at how easily the cheerful young man made enemies. Indeed, even Hesselius's 'friend', who finally picked them up in Naples, was actually a bitter rival of his who happened to owe him a considerable amount of money-- a debt which Hess agreed to forgive in exchange for transportation.

"I see they're rebuilding everything everywhere, busy as bees. It's almost a shame that the Blitz didn't clean this place out permanently," Hess said lightly, slamming the door of the cab.

The driver turned around angrily. "Wot's that?" he asked, his burly voice matching his burly physique. "You one of the Jerries?"

"Heavens, no," Hess said, raising his eyebrows. "I just haven't any fondness for fog, or for the stench of streets that have been absorbing piss for nineteen hundred years. Well then, shall we be off?"

Fifteen minutes later the cab pulled up in front of the building, which was obviously damaged from the bomb raids, although not horribly so. D left the scowling driver a generous tip for having to put up with Hesselius's constant chatter. The cab sped away.

D stared passively at the scarred brick walls of the apartment building, the building he had lived in from 1916 until 1925. He remembered the last time he had seen his tiny one-room flat. That was the day he had set out to find _her_. To save her.

Suddenly he realized that he didn't feel ready to face Samantha after all. It was too soon. What would she say to him? What would _he_ say to her? Meeting her again, apologizing, trying to provide the explanation that he was sure she would demand… it would be a painful task, and he was suddenly reluctant to accomplish it. D knew in his heart that he had to do it, and he was surprised by his own unwillingness.

"Come on man, let's not keep her waiting," Hess said enthusiastically, leading the way to the door with his hands in his pockets. D didn't reply. He stared up at the building for another moment, knowing there was nothing he could do to ease the burden of guilt that he felt, or to erase the impact he had had on Samantha's life. But what could she possibly want from him, after all these years?

D knew there was only one way to find out.

* * *

The door to the little apartment had been painted black many years ago. The paint was peeling now. D raised his pale hand and knocked twice. He heard the footsteps approaching softly beyond the door, heard the clink of the lock, and watched as the knob turned. 

If she was surprised to see him standing there, she didn't show it. She looked much the same as D remembered-- she was still slender, with the posture of a dancer, although her dress was now conservative, almost old-fashioned-- and her chestnut hair showed a few strands of grey. Her eyes went straight to his, and D was struck by how aged her eyes seemed.

"Hello, D," she said softly, and D didn't recognized her voice. He stared at her, his face expressionless. Samantha smiled, and D watched in amazement as the skin around her mouth and eyes crinkled and creased. But she was still beautiful. She shifted her eyes over to Hess, who returned her smile. "And obviously you're the hunter who finally caught him," she said.

"Amadeus Hesselius. It's a pleasure to be of service, Ms. Rowntree." Hess said with a half a bow.

Samantha gave a single nod of approval. "Please, come in. I've just made some tea." She opened the door all the way and stood aside. As if in a dream, D found himself stepping into the little room. Samantha closed the door and walked towards the stove. "There was only a bed and a chair in here when I moved in," Samantha said, opening the cupboard beside the sink. "As you can see, I've done a little decorating." She took down three teacups and set them on the table, which was just big enough to accommodate the four chairs stationed around it. She looked up at D and smiled again. "I was going to get rid of your dreadful curtains eventually, but before I got around to it, the air raids started, and they ended up being perfect for the blackout."

D didn't say anything. Samantha picked up the teapot. "Won't you sit down?" she asked pleasantly.

"Thank you," Hess said, settling into a chair. D also took a seat as Samantha poured the tea, placed the pot in the center of the table, and sat down herself.

"It's been nineteen years," she said in a wistful voice. She smiled softly. "And now here you are. But you're not the same. I can tell. You're even stronger now, aren't you?"

Still D didn't reply. Samantha blinked, and wrapped both of her hands around her teacup. "I sold the house, you know," she said. "Sold most of everything. Geoffrey took some of the furniture, when he got married. I tracked down the people who manage your money-- that's how I found this place-- they told me you were still paying the rent for it. Not a day went by when I didn't hope that maybe today you'd finally come back. But of course that was foolish of me." She sipped her tea, and then looked away. "You were never going to come back."

"That's not true," D said quietly. "I would have come back to you someday."

"Someday? When I was old and dying, perhaps?" she smiled ruefully. "I remember you waited until my grandmother was on her deathbed before you told her who had killed her only daughter. Why didn't you tell her sooner, D?"

D didn't say anything. He actually glanced over at Hesselius, who seemed mesmerized by his cup of tea. For once the blond-haired bastard wasn't jabbering away, and actually seemed determined to stay out of the conversation.

"I know why you didn't tell her," Samantha continued, a faraway look in her eyes. "You wanted to protect her. The truth was so nightmarish, you wanted to spare her from it. You were trying to be _kind_. Do you remember the day we took the train away from Transylvania?"

"Yes," D replied quietly. How could he forget? Samantha had been a little girl then, just seven years old, and D had held her on his lap while she cried into his coat. Her little brother had been running up and down the aisle with D's wide-brimmed hat on his head, oblivious to his sister's grief.

"I never wanted Geoffrey to know that our father was dead," Samantha stated. "He asked me, but I always avoided answering him. So I understand why you didn't tell us the truth back then. You kept it a secret, out of kindness. I'm not accusing you of anything, you know that, don't you? I posted the reward for you because I needed to see you again, and the lord knows I wasn't blessed with my grandmother's patience."

"How is your brother?" D asked, changing the subject. Samantha reached for a picture frame on the sideboard beside the table, and passed it to D. It was photograph of a handsome young man in an army uniform, with a smiling, dark-haired wife and two round-faced children: a boy in suspenders about three years old, and a baby girl in a frilly dress who looked just big enough to toddle about. The man was holding his son's hand, while the little girl sat on her mother's hip and stared out at the camera. Even in a baby's face, in a black-and-white photo, the resemblance was unmistakable… D's mouth tightened and he blinked a few times. He might have almost smiled. "The baby," he said quietly, unable to tear his eyes away from the round, familiar face. "She has Tasia's eyes."

"They're such beautiful children," Samantha said. "That picture was taken in 1942, in the summer. Just six months before Geoffrey was killed. Not a soul in his battalion survived."

D put down the picture, feeling suddenly cold. He looked up at Samantha, and she held his gaze for a moment before looking away. "Life is funny that way," Samantha said. "Geoffrey never knew his father, and now his children will never know theirs."

"I'd like to visit them," D said without thinking.

Samantha sipped her tea, and then carefully reached out and took the photograph out of D's hands. She replaced it on the sideboard, and turned it so it was out of D's line of sight.

"Please don't," she told him frankly. "They've been through enough. There's no reason for any of them to know that you even exist. You must understand, it would only confuse them. Geoffrey told me never to mention you to his wife."

"Of course." D's voice was soft and even, but for some reason, he felt a dull ache in his heart. He knew that it was only logical that he should stay away from Geoffrey's widow and the two young children. To them, D would be nothing more than an unwelcome shadow from a dark and distant past.

D would spare them from the knowledge of his existence, spare them the reminder of their family's sad history. He would keep his distance from Tasia's grandchildren, and simply let them drift away into the world. In a few more generations, the remnants of the family would spread out, disperse, be diffused by new blood—and Tasia's tragic story would be laid to rest, forgotten forever. Yes, it was better that way.

Gradually D became aware of the ticking of a clock somewhere on the wall behind him. No one had said anything for several minutes. "Samantha," D said at last. "About what happened that night, when I… stopped protecting you from the truth… I'm sorry." His voice was so soft it was barely audible.

"You're _sorry_?" Samantha repeated. Suddenly she laughed, sounding more like the girl D remembered. "Oh, D, that isn't what I want from you! Oh, no. That isn't why you're here at all. What do you think you've got to be sorry for? You didn't do anything wrong. It isn't your fault that you're half vampire. It isn't your fault that I fell in love with you. And you made the right choice by running away that night, D."

She leaned forward and put her elbows on the table, and though she was smiling, D saw that there were tears in her brandy-brown eyes. "I needed to see you again for two reasons," she said carefully, fighting to keep her voice calm. "First of all, I want to thank you for what you did, and for what you didn't do." She blinked quickly, grimacing as she tried in vain to repress her emotions. Hesitantly she reached for D's hand, and covered it with her own. "I understand why you left me," she said. "It was the only option I gave you. I'm the one… who should say I'm sorry."

"Don't…" D whispered.

"I mean it, D. I'm sorry for what I almost caused you to do. But the other reason I needed to see you is much more important."

She took a deep breath, and stared straight into his eyes.

"_I want revenge_."

D was startled by the intensity in her voice and expression. Reflexively he drew his hand away from hers across the table. Samantha sat back in her chair, fully in control of her emotions once again. She smiled coldly, and wiped away her tears. "Most people in the world are not as _moral_ as you, D," she said evenly. "You've seen for yourself how men succumb to even the slightest temptation."

D glanced over at Hess with a frown, and then returned his full attention to Samantha.

"But you're not like them," Samantha went on. "You're the most virtuous man I've ever known. That's why you may not understand why this is so important to me. Perhaps my soul already belongs to the devil because of it, but I've got a _hatred_ burning inside me that only the ice of revenge will cure."

"Hatred?" D asked, taken aback. "You said that I made the right choice… but you still hate me for it?"

Her eyes flashed with the passionate light that D remembered so well. "No, D," she said. "I could never hate _you_. Like I said, none of it was your fault. I hate the one who is ultimately _responsible_ for the wretchedness of our lives, both mine and yours. I've spent years upon years now doing my research. I'm not going to make excuses for myself, and you're free to tell me that I'm crazy, but I'll never be satisfied until _your father_ is _dead_."

"God in heaven!" Hesselius exclaimed, forgetting that he had resolved to let D and the woman sort this business out themselves. "Are you out of your mind? You're talking about the _King_ of the Vampires. The original bloodsucker himself, the one they call their 'Great Ancestor'! Forgive my rudeness, but you're just plain ignorant if you think that HE has done anything to you that he hasn't done to a hundred thousand other humans over the centuries."

"Every life he's taken or ruined is just one more reason why he should die." Samantha lowered her chin and looked up at D. "_He's_ the one I hate. I want him dead," she repeated softly. "…And I want _you_ to kill him."

There was desperation in her eyes, but also unwavering strength.

"_Will you do it?_" She asked breathlessly. D knew what he was looking at: it was the conviction of mortality, challenging him. She was like a doomed insect, clinging to a twig in a violent sea: she would never relinquish her hold on her desire for revenge. And she was daring the immortal in front of her to take action on her behalf.

D's mind raced back to another time when had faced a similar challenge. He recalled the image of a man on his knees in a dark prison cell, a broken man who had lost his beautiful wife and abandoned his sanity and even his children-- a man with nothing left but the desire for violence and destruction. _What will you do to change the world? _Samantha's father had asked D. _What madness will you undertake?_

Those words had haunted D ever since. Actually attempting to kill the Vampire King… _that_ was madness. Samantha was waiting for his answer.

D locked eyes with her, and nodded his head.

* * *

A/N: Yay, we finally get around to the original point of this whole story! You all know what's going to happen, of course, but hopefully you'll stick around to read it anyway. Oh, and if you're confused about this chapter at all, go reread chapt. 8! 


	22. Memory

Author's note: Sorry it's been so long! I went back and added page-divider lines to all the chapters, so now this story is actually readable, lol. There are some direct quotes from Bram Stoker's _Dracula_ in this chapter, made obvious by the use of italics, so please don't sue me…

* * *

Chapter 22: Memory

Romania, 1946

At last, the wild Carpathian Mountains were visible out the window of the train. D watched solemnly as the rugged mountains approached, his shoulder pressed to the glass as the train clattered and rattled over the tracks, mile after mile clicking by-- bringing him closer and closer to the place he came from, the place he never thought he would see again. He was close enough now to _feel_ that he was approaching his homeland. The land itself called out to him, to his blood, to all his senses.

"It's nothing but a hideous, godforsaken wilderness out there," Hesselius remarked from the seat across from D. "By God, I miss civilization."

"You didn't have to come along," D reminded him quietly.

"Yes I did," the man insisted. "You've been paying me to help you prepare for this for over a year. If I backed out now, word would get around and soon I'd be out of a job. Unfortunately, I'm not old enough to retire yet, so I'm going to see this business through to the bloody end. We're going to kill that damned father of yours until he's dead and gone for sure and for ever. Now… let's review." He pulled a tattered black book from the pocket of his coat and flipped it open on his lap.

"We've been through that a hundred times," D muttered emotionlessly, not taking his gaze away from the jagged terrain out the window.

"And yet I'm still not completely certain as to the color of old Lucy's hair," Hess replied cheerfully, finding his place on the page. "I guess we'll just have to ask your dad when we see him, eh?" he didn't wait for a reply, but leaned forward eagerly. "Ah, here it is. They're talking about the very place to which we are currently traveling. Listen to this: _'Do you know what the place is? Have you seen that awful den of hellish infamy, with the very moonlight alive with grisly shapes, and ever speck of dust that whirls in the wind a devouring monster in embryo? Have you felt the Vampire's lips upon your throat?'_"

Hesselius looked up at D with his blond-white eyebrows raised, as if expecting a reply from the somber dhampir.

D sighed faintly. "Yes," he answered softly.

"Well?" Hess asked, his voice slightly strained. "What is this bit about the specks of dust being 'monsters' in embryo? Is that something we need to take into consideration?"

"I've already told you," D said quietly. "The castle… you can't trust it. It's been enchanted… cursed… haunted… and it's been that way ever since it was first built, over seven hundred years ago."

"That worthless Van Helsing and that infernal gang of idiots," Hesselius grumbled, ignoring D and flipping ahead a few more pages in the book. "This is my favorite part right here, where they are actually stupid enough to think they've exterminated the King of the Vampires. Listen:"

"Hesselius. I know the story," D said, but the man would not be dissuaded.

"Just listen: _'I saw the Count lying within the box upon the earth, some of which the rude falling from the cart had scattered over him. He was deathly pale, just like a waxen image, and the red eyes glared with the horrible vindictive look which I knew so well. As I looked, the eyes saw the sinking sun, and the look of hate in them turned to triumph. But, on the instant, came the sweep and flash of Jonathan's great knife. I shrieked as I saw it shear through the throat. Whilst at the same moment Mr. Morris's bowie knife plunged into the heart. It was like a miracle, but before our very eyes, and almost in the drawing of a breath, the whole body crumbled into dust and passed from our sight.'_ Those fools! It says right here that the body had _dirt _scattered over it—what they saw was _not _the vampire's body crumbling into dust, but all that scattered dirt falling down when the vampire chose to vanish. Any vampire hunter worth half a piss would realize that!" Hesselius snapped the book shut. "Did those worthless idiots accomplish _anything _useful at all in their whole ridiculous escapade?"

D didn't answer. He had never given much thought to any of the 'damned Van Helsing people' that Hesselius loved to complain about, but he was glad that they had survived their 'ridiculous escapade', even if they hadn't actually managed to kill any vampires. As far as D knew, however, the events recorded in that 'fictional' book documented the closest that anyone had ever come to killing his father… and the only reason they came as close as they did was because the Vampire King had been practically insane at the time.

D's father had driven himself nearly senile by keeping a promise to a dead woman for so many years—a promise to exist without nourishment, without appeasement... At last the old vampire decided to break that promise, and very nearly lost his mind in the process. D had stayed well out of his father's way during those turbulent few months, not understanding the significance of what was going on around him. Back then, D's primary concern in life had been finding time to sneak off into the woods to visit Tasia Belus-- he hadn't thought much about his father's return to his old evil habits. He knew his father was a vampire, he knew what vampires did to people, and he wanted nothing to do with it… he wanted only to sit by the hearth in that warm little cottage with its wood-and-plaster walls, with Tasia, his one and only friend, beside him. Those had been happy times, the only ones he had known since his mother had died, so many sad years before.

D closed his eyes, intending to allow the noise of the train to lull him to sleep for a while. And as he drifted into fragmented dreams, he wondered if his father knew that he was coming home…

* * *

It was a warm spring day in 1820. The Vampire King got down on his knees and gripped his son by the shoulders. The boy blinked solemn blue eyes at him, the frown on his pale, round face looking far too pensive for someone as small as he. 

"I cannot prolong her life, D. Do you understand what that means?"

"No," the child replied innocently.

The vampire searched the boy's face. "It means," he said slowly, his rich, rolling voice nearly a whisper-- "she'll die very soon."

"Mother will?" the boy asked.

The vampire nodded. "Yes," he managed to say. The child's expression didn't change, and this upset the ancient creature. "Come," he said, standing again and steering the child down the hall. Sunlight shone through the crack at the bottom of a large wooden door at the end of the corridor.

"Are we going in Mother's room?" the boy asked plaintively, looking up at his father.

"Yes."

"I don't want to. The sun's in there."

"We won't be there long. Hush now."

"I don't like it!" D protested.

"I told you to hush," his father said warningly, wrapping his white hand around the handle to the door. Wincing and squinting against the light that flooded the corridor as the door swung open, father and son slipped into the sunlit room.

As his eyes adjusted to the brightness of midmorning, the boy looked around at the familiar surroundings of the room: the clean, warm boards of the floor, covered in places with sheepskin rugs, the large bed with its clean white sheets and light blue quilts, and his mother in the bed- an old, frail woman in a white nightgown with white hair and wrinkled, translucent skin.

"Are you awake, darling?" his father whispered.

"Why… you shouldn't be in here," a weak voice replied from the bed. "The light…"

"Don't worry about me," the vampire said, sitting on the edge of the bed and lifting the boy up beside him. "How are you feeling?"

"Tired," the voice replied honestly. The old woman blinked, and smiled, her eyes still as clear and blue as the summer sky. She gazed fondly at her two visitors, and reached out with her crooked fingers to hold the hand of her child.

"Mother, will you take me to the town again?" D asked hopefully. The old woman looked up at the vampire, confused.

"The town?" she asked tremulously, struggling to remember.

"Ten years ago," the vampire explained quickly, quietly. "The trip you took ten years ago. To him it seems like yesterday."

"Of course," the old woman said, and smiled again at the little boy. "I remember now. I'm sorry, D. I can't take you to the town today."

"How about tomorrow?" the boy asked innocently.

"We'll see," his mother replied kindly. She looked at the boy's small hand, and suddenly her eyes filled with tears. "Sometimes…" she said hesitantly. "Sometimes… I wish you would grow up. I want to see my dear boy tall and strong… before I… die."

"You mustn't leave him with me," the boy's father said, his voice breaking. "Please. I don't know what I'll do with him."

The old woman gazed fondly, wisely, at her husband. "Why, you'll watch him grow up, that's what you'll do," she said softly. "You'll care for him… you'll teach him. You'll love him."

"But without _you_…" the vampire whispered, searching those sky-blue eyes.

The old woman placed her hand on her son's head, and brushed the soft brown locks away from the child's white face. "That first year, you were just a normal baby," she said to the boy. "For one year, you grew so fast. And then… time began to slow for you. And one day… it will stop altogether. You'll never grow old." She looked up at her husband, knowing that he knew that she was on the threshold now. "But he _will_ grow up, won't he?" she asked softly. "He'll grow up strong and brave and _good_…"

"Yes," the vampire said distractedly, nodding. "Yes, he'll grow up eventually."

The old woman smiled. Her hand suddenly went numb, and she let it fall. She blinked a few times, struggling to focus on her son's face. Those solemn dark blue eyes and thin mouth… ah, D had an angel's smile, though he hardly ever showed it. He was such a serious, thoughtful little boy. The old woman's thoughts flew ahead to the endless open brightness of her son's future, and she found that her hopes for him far outweighed her fears. "Mm," she said, and her face relaxed as her eyes fluttered closed. "I wish I could be there…"

Not understanding anything, little D laid down beside his mother, while her breathing grew fainter. The vampire looked down at his little family, his scarlet eyes quivering with pain. He always knew this day would come, he'd known it from the beginning. But it seemed too soon, much too soon. The boy was still so small.

The Vampire King was certainly no stranger to Death. Indeed, since ancient times he had played with death, _used_ it, caused it and invited it whenever he wished. But now, the only time it mattered, he was powerless against it. This was the one death that he had no control over- he was utterly helpless, and could do nothing but watch as it claimed the one he loved. Silently he turned and lowered himself onto the bed beside his wife and child, reaching one arm over his son so that he could hold the wrinkled hand which was still much warmer than his own.

And the three of them stayed there together for the last few minutes, until the inevitable happened, and the old woman accomplished the last and ultimate task of her mortality-- and quietly, peacefully, and irrevocably went onwards, leaving behind two beings who would never be able to follow her.

* * *

Red eyes opened slowly, and a white hand gracefully lifted the lid of the coffin. It was still daylight, about an hour before sunset. The vampire rose slowly to his feet and went to the balcony. Why had he dreamed of that memory? Every detail had been perfect. It was as if he had gone back in time and re-experienced the day of her death. 

_"Why?"_ he whispered, stepping outside and staring up at the sky, which would never be as beautifully blue and clear as her eyes had been. Quickly he lowered his gaze and scanned the familiar outlines of the forest that surrounded the castle. His eyes found the dusty tan streak of the one road that led to his gate, and he followed it outward to the furthest point he could see, where the road crested a rocky, treeless ledge before disappearing down the other side of the mountain. That point in the road was probably twelve or fifteen miles away from the castle, but the vampire merely squinted at it, and brought it into such perfect focus that he would have been able to see the expression on the face of anyone who might have been standing there.

The road at the mountain pass was empty, but instinct or intuition kept the vampire's attention riveted to that place. He knew something was coming. He had been through enough wars and invasions to sense the threat of battle in the air. He curved his hands over the railing of the balcony, waiting and watching, and soon he smiled.

The Vampire King realized who was coming for him, and a wave of pride and delight swelled in his heart. Yes, it was unmistakable.

A moment later a rider appeared on the road at the mountain pass. It was exactly who Dracula expected-- astride a dark bay horse, a sword slung across his back, a broad-brimmed hat on his head to keep the harsh sun from his chalk-white face…

D reined-in the horse, which shook its head as it stopped, the gusty wind flagging its mane to one side. As soon as he rode onto the rocky ledge, D knew who was staring at him from such an incredible distance, and raised his eyes to the castle. Immediately he knew where to focus, and saw the figure standing on the balcony, dressed in dark, elegant clothing reminiscent of a forgotten era of regality, complete with a black cape… and D looked into the face that matched his own, saw the white gleam of his father's unabashed smile, and the garnet flash of his eyes.

_Welcome back_, whispered an all-too-familiar voice in D's head. D narrowed his eyes, surprised. It was still daytime- he hadn't thought his father was able to project his thoughts like that during the day. The old vampire nodded to him. Expressionlessly, D tipped his head forward just half an inch to return the nod- and in so doing he obscured his view of the distant castle with the brim of his hat. A second later when he looked back, his father was gone. D quickly scanned the stone walls of the castle, but nothing seemed out of the ordinary—yet. Blinking, he let the castle fall out of focus.

D looked behind himself at Hesselius, who was busy cursing quite explicitly as he urged his reluctant horse up the steep road.

"What are you stopping for?" Hesselius called out, noticing D's grim expression. "God above, please don't tell we're lost! I can't take much more of these miserable mountain trails."

"He knows we're here," D said softly.

"Wonderful!" Hess exclaimed, reaching into his pocket and pulling out a pistol. "I suppose we can expect an ambush at any second now? Well, I say, let's get on with it!" the man grinned, and with a frustrated huff his horse broke into a trot.

D nodded and then tapped his heels against his horse's sides, spurring the animal down the road towards the castle…

They would arrive at sunset.

* * *

A/N: I had to throw in the flashback to explain how/when D's mom died because I think it's an important thing to consider. Argh! It drives me crazy not knowing the _real _story, you know? Who was D's mom? Was she happy, or sad? Did she die naturally, or by suicide, or did D's father end up killing her, or did _he _turn her into a vampire and then _D_ had to kill her? Man, I hope not… I hope she died of natural causes, which is sad enough… 

Anyway, some of you are probably wondering why that obnoxious Hesselius character is still hanging around- sure, he was the plot device I used to get D back to Samantha, but he's got one more purpose to serve in this story before I get him out of the way…


	23. Beautiful monsters

Chapter 23: Beautiful monsters

Hoofbeats.

Two horses flew down the mountain road, the first a powerful bay with a streaming black mane and tail, the second a wild-eyed chestnut desperate to keep pace with the bay. The rider of the first kept his head down, perhaps to keep his hat from being swept away in the wind, or perhaps only because he knew the road by heart, and did not need to look ahead in order to guide his horse. The second rider kept turning back and forth to glance suspiciously into the forest on either side of the road, but there was a certain smugness about his expression, and he held a gleaming silver pistol steady in his hand.

They'd been galloping for barely a minute when the first alarm rose resounding from the forest; an unnaturally loud and lonesome howl—joined a moment later by a full chorus. The wolves were awake.

Within seconds the first of the beasts came sprinting out of the trees, easily catching up to the racing horses with its long pink tongue hanging from its gaping jaws. It gathered itself and leapt into the air, almost more like a cougar than a wolf, springing with impossible velocity towards the galloping chestnut horse. The airborne wolf's ears were pinned back, its mouth open wide, long sharp teeth glistening with saliva- and as it sailed towards its target, Hess put a bullet down its throat.

Without so much as a whimper, the wolf was torn out of the air and slammed into the ground- and its entire body seemed squashed somehow, with vulgar shards of bright white bone jutting haphazardly through its mottled hide. It was as if a giant invisible mallet had come smashing down out of the sky to intercept the wolf.

Hess grinned. There were more wolves heading towards them, loping gracefully in the shadows of the trees, their forms blurring together as more and more of them joined the chase. Then, as if at some unheard command, the animals closed in from both sides of the road. Hess flattened five more wolves with the remaining five bullets in his pistol, and then stuck the gun under his arm as he fumbled in his pocket for more ammunition. The terrified chestnut horse pressed in close to the flank of the bay, and they thundered forward at top speed, although there was obviously no hope that they would be able to outrun the snarling pack of wolves.

Within seconds, Hess succeeded in reloading his gun, and soon six more wolves dropped dead to the earth as if stomped on by a huge invisible boot. "Are you planning to help me out here anytime soon?" Hess hollered at D, as he went to reload again.

"Drop your gun," D called back.

"Are you crazy?"

"Do it," D ordered, and Hess cursed and tossed the silver weapon over his shoulder.

The wolves stopped snarling, and simply ran alongside the horses for another moment, and then in twos and threes they slipped away and disappeared back into the forest. "What in the name of hell was that about?" Hess shouted.

But before D replied, a shrill, trumpeting scream ripped the air, and both horses pulled their heads up abruptly. A quarter of a mile down the road, a small herd of bulky black shapes was waiting for them.

"Are those _horses?_" Hess hollered incredulously.

D frowned. Indeed, all twelve of his father's carriage horses were bunched up ahead of them on the road, the light of the setting sun reflecting in coppery arcs on their sleek coal-black coats. They were each sixteen hands and two thousand pounds, and on their necks they bore a curious brand- a 'V' atop an inverted cross. D knew that they had belonged to his father since the early middle ages-- something to do with the crusades. There were no harnesses, bridles, or riders to be seen. Had the animals been sent out as some sort of barricade? His expression grim, D drew his sword.

As the distance closed, the line of black horses began to fidget and scream, rearing up and stabbing at the air with sharp, steel-shod hooves.

"This way!" D called over his shoulder to Hess, and swerved into the forest. Nearly dislodging its passenger, the wild-eyed chestnut horse swerved to follow the bigger bay, plunging into the woods.

"Oh, lovely!" Hess yelled, ducking low as a branch nearly decapitated him. "Just what--" he was cut off as the ground began to rumble. Those twelve giant horses were pursuing them now, trampling even medium-sized trees in their way. Hess cursed and went fumbling in his coat for another gun, but had no luck aiming it for the density of the forest, and the threat that he'd be swept off by a branch if he turned around to look at what he wanted to shoot. He fired several shots behind him blindly and was answered by a chorus of deafening whinnies that gave an impression of wicked laughter.

By now D and Hess had become separated by the forest, and D's horse was closer to the huge black chargers. As they dashed through the trees, the first of the black horses pulled up alongside D's horse, and for a split second D saw his reflection in the depths of the huge horse's eye, which was the color of a pomegranate aril. And then the black horse opened its mouth and plunged its head down, sinking four-inch fangs into D's horse across the crest of its neck.

D narrowed his eyes, obviously not the least bit amused. If the black horse's mouth had been just a bit wider, it would have bitten through the bay's vertebrae- but as it was, the bite wasn't that severe. The two horses galloped side by side, the bay held prisoner by the steel-trap grip of the teeth in its neck. D swung his sword without hesitation, slicing downwards across the black horse's massive head as if it were nothing but an enormous loaf of bread he meant to cut in half-- but due to the difficult angle of the cut, the sword lodged in the bones and actually came to a halt only halfway through, and D was forced to draw the blade out sideways.

A fountain of dark blood sprayed from the black horse's face. The monstrous charger ripped its tiger-like fangs from the neck of the bay horse, and went down, but D knew instinctively that the wound he had given it was already healing, and the beast would be on its feet again all too soon. He heard gunshots behind him, and steered his horse around towards the sound, with three more of the mighty chargers tearing up the forest at his heels.

Meanwhile, Hess's chestnut horse had been run up against a sharp rocky wall, and eight of the twelve black chargers were closing in from all sides. Initially, Hess didn't mind being trapped, because it meant he could finally aim and fire his gun- but the special bullets which had instantly flattened the wolves didn't have quite the same effect on the massive horses- being shot clean through the chest slowed them to a trot, a second shot between the eyes slowed them to a walk- but steadily they drew nearer, their dark ruby eyes fixed on the trembling chestnut horse.

"D!" Hess called out, as the bay horse burst in on the scene and was suddenly pulled to a halt. "What in God's own name are these things?"

"Hungry," D replied.

Hess gave a half-crazed laugh. "Think you're funny, do you?" He aimed and shot all three of the black horses that were bearing down on D. The monstrous beasts faltered but pressed ahead at a trot until a second shot made them all drop their heads and plod forward determinedly at a walk.

"These are hundred-stone bullets!" Hess exclaimed. "They weigh the same as a regular bullet in a human's hand, but when they touch anything supernatural or under dark influence, they instantly change to weigh a hundred stones. That's fourteen hundred goddamn pounds!"

D nodded. "So that's what crushed the wolves that you shot."

"Yes. But I've shot each of these devil horses _twice_ and they won't go down, and what's more, the weight dissipates after about a minute, so any second now some of these will start running again!"

"Pulling three thousands pounds is nothing to these animals," D remarked.

"Why, thank you ever so much for the lesson in evil equine-ology," Hess said dryly. "Now what I'd really like to know is how we're going to kill them."

"There are twelve of them…" D said. "And how many wolves did you shoot?"

"Twelve," Hess replied. D nodded.

"We'll turn back," he said simply.

"Turn back?" Hess repeated incredulously, his voice rising in anger. "Turn back now, when we haven't even set foot in the castle, and ruin my chance to be famous? God above! You're a piss-rotten god-damn half-breed coward, that's what you are!"

Just then the first few chargers that Hess shot felt the weight of the magical bullets lifted from them, and they began to pick up speed, snorting and whinnying. Hess kicked the chestnut and it boldly dashed between two of the slower-moving monsters to join D's horse. "However," Hess said, scowling, "You _are_ running the show, so lead the way." The twelfth black horse, the one that D had cut with his sword, had fully recovered and was galloping towards them now, as one by one the other horses quickened their pace.

"Back to the road," D instructed in an even voice, tapping his heels to the bay. "Back to the wolves."

* * *

Half a moment later the bay and the chestnut burst from the woods side-by-side, leading the thundering herd of giant black horses back up the road towards the carcasses of the wolves. 

When they reached the dead wolves, the black horses slowed, and immediately their nostrils flared and quivered, and they lowered their shaggy heads, snorting and snuffling at the bloody ground- and then, exactly as D expected, they began to feed- tearing slowly and methodically at the bodies of the wolves with their long, unnatural fangs, and peacefully chewing up bones, fur, paws, tails and intestines as if it were all nothing but grass.

D circled his horse at a safe distance and Hess pulled up beside him. Dumbfounded, he watched the monstrous chargers grazing contentedly upon the wolf carcasses. Hess shuddered as he saw one horse raise its nose from a cracked-open ribcage, bits of pinkish lung dropping sloppily from its mouth. "Well." The man said. "Saints in heaven. It wouldn't be too far off the mark to say that _this_ is a disturbing sight." He looked over at D, who was watching the horses impassively.

"Told you they were hungry," D said simply, and turned his horse back towards the castle. "Twelve wolves should be enough for them, though."

"That's it then? We aren't going to try to finish them off?" Hess asked, blinking.

"I didn't come here to slaughter wolves or butcher carriage horses," D muttered, glancing down the road ahead of them.

Hess nodded. The entire adventure had taken less than ten minutes so far. The castle was still miles away. Their horses were breathing heavily but were not entirely spent, and so after giving a wide and cautious berth to the feeding herd, they pressed ahead at a lope.

* * *

There were no further incidents on their way to the castle. D and Hesselius dismounted and walked right up the broad stone stairs to the main entrance, making no attempt to conceal their presence. They paused at the door, and looked over their shoulders as the last orange rays of the sun were eclipsed by the dark silhouette of the Carpathians. "Well, that settles it," Hess muttered, tension evident in his tone. "We're in _his_ world now." 

"It's _my_ world too." D grasped the heavy iron handle of the wooden door, and pulled it open easily. Not a single flame of light flickered in the entire castle. D and Hesselius stepped into the darkness, and D turned and automatically put out his hand to slow the door as it attempted to slam itself closed behind them. He caught the door on its way and gently eased it shut as it creaked in protest.

For a moment they stood there in silence, the interior of the spacious hall feeling extremely cold and hollow, like an ancient empty tomb.

"It's dark," Hess observed. D waved his hand almost carelessly and at least a hundred candles hissed softly to life up and down the stone walls. As if that were some sort of signal, three ghostly figures began to materialize almost lazily in the middle of the hall, gradually and tantalizingly gathering substance, then adding texture, and color, and finally becoming completely solid.

For one of the very few times in his life, Hesselius was speechless. Gliding towards him now, clothed in resplendent eighteenth-century ball gowns, were three young women, each of whom was dangerously beautiful. Two of them were nearly identical. These two had long, shining dark hair, with ribbons of silvery lace and strands of gleaming pearls braided into it. They had impossibly pure white skin which seemed to glow in the candlelight. Their large eyes were downcast, and shaded by long, dark lashes.

The third young woman walked between and a step behind the first two, and her incomparable beauty would have been 'angelic' if it had not been so intensely seductive.

Though her skin was pale, it seemed on the verge of being tinged the softest shade of rose-petal pink at any moment. The twisting spirals of her hair were the color of the cleanest, brightest gold, and her eyes were sapphires aflame- and Hess found himself incapable of looking away from her perfect mouth, with its red, full lips.

"My God," Hess whispered at last, gaping at the fair-haired girl. "If you were human, I'd wish you were a cannibal, so you could gobble me up for breakfast, lunch, and dinner!"

D glanced sideways at Hess, considerably perturbed by that statement. The fair-haired girl fluttered her lashes several times, smiling delightedly, and the other two actually giggled. "But what about dessert?" the fair girl asked, honey in her voice. Her perfect lips pouted. "Dessert's my favorite."

"I was going to let these other two have me for dessert, actually," Hess said smoothly, somehow tearing his eyes away from her perfect lips to study her dark-haired companions. They were taller than the fair girl, and in fact, a little taller than Hess. Their graceful figures and inhuman beauty were so captivating, Hess felt like he might melt into a useless puddle of frenzied desire right there on the flagstones. He inhaled slowly. "Yes," he said distractedly. "This is… this is quite deadly. I've never seen anything so…so… I've never seen anything like…" he blinked a few times, and then looked quickly over his shoulder at D. "Well, ok, I've seen _D_," he said with an apologetic shrug- "But you ladies…_you_ are so… so…"

The three girls laughed. The dark-haired one closest to D stepped towards him, and struck out faster than a serpent, catching D's jaw in her cold hand exactly as she'd done when he was a child. "Welcome home, little brother," she said with a cruel smile, as D gazed at her impassively. "How thoughtful of you to bring your dear sisters such an entertaining, energetic little gift."

"He _is_ precious. Wherever did you _find_ him?" the other sister asked, circling Hess with an evaluative gleam in her scarlet eyes.

"Funny story, that," Hess said brightly, with every intention of telling it.

"Shut up," the fair girl snapped- but she was smiling, her eyes sparkling like an ocean of stars.

Hess obeyed instantly.

Meanwhile, the second sister had finished stalking around Hess, and proceeded to circle D with the same sort of appraising attitude. "Hmm," she said several times, looking D over from head to toe-- and then she gave a low chuckle. "My, my, my. Will you look at this? The spoiled little brat turned out halfway decent after all."

"Indeed," the first sister said, smirking. "Touch him, Carina. His flesh is warm."

"How peculiar," the second sister remarked. "It doesn't smell like he's fed recently. Must be from spending time out in the horrid sun. That explains his unhealthy color, too."

Hess looked over at the siblings and was surprised to notice just how grey D's skin looked next to the white perfection of the sisters. Hess knew that dhampirs' skin turned ash-grey when sunburned, but D's complexion had always seemed flawlessly pale until now, now that there was something _paler_ to compare it to. Carina reached up to touch D's cheek, but D stepped away, shaking off the other sister's grasp as well.

"Oh look, Sabina. We annoyed him," Carina said, sounding mirthlessly amused.

"He hasn't even said hello yet," Sabina smirked. "Isn't that just absolutely… _provocative?_ Ah, yes, the strong, silent type. So _delicious_."

D blinked. Which was the only outward sign of his incredulous disgust at this point in the conversation.

"Don't you agree, Aloisia?" Sabina asked the fair-haired girl.

"Well, he's _your _brother so I suppose the two of you've got first dibs. Anyway, I want _this_ one. I'll share later, of course, but I want him first," Aloisia said, all the while smiling coyly at Hess, never once taking her bright blue eyes away from his face. Or more specifically, from his throat.

Sabina refocused her scarlet gaze on D. "Poor little brother," she murmured. "All alone out in the human's world. Something tells me… that none of those human girls could ever really do the trick for you."

"You know why I'm here, and it has nothing to do with you," D muttered. "So get out of my way."

"And if we don't?" Sabina asked silkily. Wordlessly, D drew his sword.

Sabina's red eyes flashed as she laughed at D's somber expression. "Fool," she said, sounding not the least bit concerned about the weapon currently pointed at her heart. "I guess Father was right. If you think you'll defeat any of _us _with a toy like that, you're still nothing but a child."

The other sister stepped in closer, and lightly wrapped one of her elegant hands around the slender blade of D's sword. "But don't you worry, D," Carina half-whispered. "We'll be happy to help you become more of an _adult_…" As she spoke she deliberately slid her curved fingers down the length of the steel, the innuendo obvious.

Unfazed, D adjusted his stance and turned his sword on its side, as if he were preparing to slash sideways across both sisters' throats.

"Wait a minute!" Hesselius said, and the three nearly-identical, beautiful, sharp-featured faces turned towards him. "_Ahem_," he began, delighted to have captured their attention. "There are many, many things that siblings should not do to each other--"

"Actually we're only half-siblings," Carina corrected haughtily.

"Half-siblings still count as siblings for the purpose of this lecture," Hess continued authoritatively. "Anyway, as I was saying. One of the things that siblings should not do to each other… is kill each other. D, leave your sisters to me, and I'll deal with them. You go on ahead. I'll meet up with you later."

"_You'll_ deal with us?" Sabina inquired, raising an eyebrow at the man.

"Yes. Quite brutally, too." Hess said in an almost flirtatious tone. "Dealing with the likes of you is my profession _and_ my obsession. My family has been hunting vampires all over Europe for three and a half centuries, after all."

Carina and Sabina simultaneously took a step toward Hesselius. Their matching pairs of savage ruby eyes shone with the same unwavering gleam that had been in the eyes of the devilish chargers closing in on the trapped chestnut horse.

"He's so confident," Sabina purred.

"And so _lively_," her sister remarked.

"He's mine!" Aloisia hissed threateningly, though her face was still smiling sweetly at Hess.

Hess looked up at D and nodded to him. "Go on," he said softly.

D hesitated. He knew that if he abandoned Hess now, the chances that he'd ever see him again were slim to none. But on the other hand, he really couldn't afford to have his half-sisters getting in his way… his real purpose here was much too serious to put up with their interference… but would he really sacrifice Hess to these awful creatures? Would it better to fight now, and try to kill the three girls, or-

"For God's sake, man, have a little faith!" Hess exclaimed. "I said I'll deal with this. Now go!"

D nodded once and made up his mind. And then suddenly he was running down the candlelit hall, his sword in his hand.

* * *

A/N: this was a long, unimportant chapter, lol. I debated cutting out the scene with the fanged horses and shortening the scene with the sisters, but in the end I decided to keep everything, and as a result, this story is now going to be 26 chapters instead of 25 as originally intended. I just couldn't delete those awesome horses! I'm sure no one's interested, but those carriage horses are supposed to be black Bretons. The history of the _Cheval Breton_ goes back several thousand years. In medieval times, they were the best warhorses in Europe. The official brand of the breed is a cross on top of an inverted 'V', and in real life they can be just about any color except black. 

Anyway, I planned all along to have D meet up with his sisters again, but I wasn't sure how the encounter could work without turning into a bloodbath. (by the way, if you want to read about the gory slaughtering of those three female vampires, go read _Dracula_.) It might be lame, but Hess came along to provide a distraction for the three of them, so they'd stay out of the way…

oh, one last note: I can't be sure, but I think the idea of 'hundred-stone bullets' might have come from something I read ten or twelve years ago in one of those awesome Susan Cooper books...


	24. Destiny

Chapter 24: Destiny

D shoved open the door to the grand banquet hall, which was the last place he had seen his father before running off into the human world, all those years ago. But the vast room was empty. There was, however, a small fire burning in the fireplace behind the long table. D glanced up at the vaulted ceiling and carefully scanned the sculptures along the walls as he walked forward.

"Um, you know," snuffled a scratchy voice at D's side. "I'm getting awfully nervous for some reason. Are you _sure_ you're ready for this?"

D made no reply.

"You're still pretty young, all things considered…" the voice muttered. "There's really no rush, if you think about it logically- you might as well wait a few centuries before you--"

"Don't try to talk me out of this," D said emotionlessly.

The demon twisted the flesh of D's palm into an anxious scowl. "I guess it'll only make you more reckless if I try to talk sense into you now… but I'll give it a shot anyway."

"I figured you might," D grumbled. The demon ignored him.

"You've been preparing for this for _one year. _In the grand scheme of things, that's like studying for ten seconds for the most important test of your life," the demon commented nervously. "…which is why you're going to fail, unless you cheat a little."

"Cheat," D repeated coldly.

"I really, really hate to get into such complicated business while you're at such a delicate age, but since I can't let you die…" the demon heaved a painful-sounding sigh. "I have no choice but to be prepared to help you. I just hope I'm strong enough."

"What are you talking about?" D muttered.

"Let's go check out that fire," his hand said, a certain note of apprehension in its rough voice.

Wordlessly, D walked the rest of the way to the fireplace, and with a slight frown, he extended his left hand towards the flames. "Yup, that's a good fire," the demon muttered. It looked like a normal, wood-burning fire to D. "Now stand still," his hand instructed, and suddenly the fire leapt towards him, forming an angry cyclone of orange and yellow flame. Instinctively D knew than in the next instant the small tornado of flame would engulf his hand. He flinched and tired to make a fist to pull his hand away, but the demon had expected that reaction, and was stubbornly holding his fingers apart—and in another instant, the fire vanished, leaving only smoking cinders scattered across the hearth.

Somehow, D's left hand had consumed the fire. "Ah ha," said the demon. "That wasn't half bad. This just might be worth the effort."

"What was that for?" D asked. "Are you going to spit that out later, like a flamethrower?"

"Don't be stupid," his hand admonished. "Anyway, aren't you supposed to be looking for someone? Come, on let's get going! Enough with the standing around! What are you, a tourist?"

D stepped into the fireplace. There was a narrow hidden passage there, which led to the courtyard below, and to the most direct route to the secretive depths of the castle.

Out in the courtyard, the twilit sky had already succumbed to the black-violet colors of a moonless night. D's hand sighed loudly. "Just taste that beautiful night air!" it exclaimed, and before D realized what was going on, the demon was swallowing the wind. D clamped his right hand down on his hat to keep it from being torn from his head in the sudden torrent of air. After a second or two he gritted his teeth and forced his left hand into a fist.

"Ouch!" the demon mumbled from inside the fist.

"What are you up to?" D asked quietly, his eyes narrowed. He didn't unclench his fist.

"Good grief! We're going underground in a few minutes, aren't we?" The voice was muffled. "What's wrong with taking one last breath of good clean air before plunging into the musty catacombs or whatever?"

"You've been quiet the past few days," D said. "And now you're chattering away. Tell me what's going on."

"For your information, I was taking a nap, hoping that this would all be over and done with by the time I woke up," the hand protested, its voice still muffled. "But the imminence of your doom really started to scare me, and so now I'm gonna try to do what I can to help you, if you need me to."

"Be more specific," D muttered.

"Would it kill you to say 'please' once in a while?"

Frowning, D unclenched his fist, but the demon's face had disappeared. D made his way across the innocent-seeming courtyard to the invisible one-way staircase which descended below the stone terrace. If you didn't know it was there, the stones which hid it were solid- but if you knew where the staircase was, and meant to walk down it, even a human could move _though_ the enchanted stones- looking as if they were sinking further into the ground with each step. D found the first step and stepped down onto it, his feet disappearing into the stone. He proceeded down the stairs quickly, and as soon as his hat passed through the enchanted layer, a very real stone ceiling formed above his head. D was underground now, and the only way back up to the outside world lay far ahead of him- as did the three subterranean chapels, and the royal mausoleum.

Knowing exactly where to go, D made his way through the many twisting corridors. Some of the passageways were illuminated by eerie blue spheres of light, and others were pitch black. Soon D found himself inside the smallest of the underground chapels, which had become nothing more than a storage room for beautiful white-marble coffins- dozens of them, each one a magnificent work of art, were simply piled atop one another on either side of the small alter. A white candle burned in the alcove behind the alter, and the glow of its flame illuminated a white marble statue that D didn't care to look at.

The first line of a beautiful poem was scrawled above the alcove in an ancient script, and the answering line was chiseled elegantly across the stones of the alter, but D didn't spare it so much as glance- he was already moving towards the door on the other side of the small sanctuary.

"Hold it!" said the possessed hand. "What's in all these pretty sarcophaguses?"

"Dirt, most likely," D replied quietly.

"Well, we better make sure," the demon said. Without a sound, D moved to the nearest of the beautiful white marble caskets, and lifted the heavy lid. The thick smell of earth instantly unfurled in the room. Silently D stretched his left hand forward into the coffin, and pressed his palm against the firmly-packed soil- which the demon began to eat voraciously. At last it seemed to be finished with its strange meal, and for a few seconds D imagined he could hear the demon actually _chewing_. "Thanks," came the scratchy voice a minute later. "I guess you've figured me out after all, huh?"

D blinked. "You've just eaten three of the four Empedoclean Elements," he said. "But I don't know why. What are you planning to do?"

The hand chuckled. "I'm hoping I won't have to do anything," it said, a little anxiously. "But is there any water down here, by chance? Because it's been so long since I've had to do it, I couldn't even attempt it in this state without all four elements, so…"

"Attempt _what?_" D asked, his voice like ice.

"Look. If all goes well, you won't need to know what I've got in mind, ok? Let's leave it at that. I'd hate to tell you something and get your confidence up, and then not find any water and not be able to go through with it."

"Then I guess the subject's closed," D muttered. "There's no water down here."

With a troubled "_hmm_", the demon fell silent.

* * *

D continued on this way further and further into the depths of the castle, drawn by instinct to the place where he knew his father was waiting for him. 

The royal mausoleum. The actual tomb of the Vampire King. D had always known where it was, but had never dared to venture inside it. The only path that led to it was a narrow pitch-black tunnel, coarsely hewn into the heart of the mountain. Compared to the symmetry, spaciousness and artistic architecture of all the other passageways beneath the castle, this tunnel seemed like it had been hastily gnawed into the stone by a monstrous rodent. D made his way down the tunnel. Even the floor of the tunnel was nothing but jagged edges and awkward angles of stone, like huge broken teeth.

Before long, faint wisps of vapor began to writhe their way over and around the stones, some of them hissing faintly as they passed. Although it was difficult to say what they might have been, what they were doing was obvious: they were getting out of the way.

The heavy sole of D's boot landed firmly on top of one of the smoke-like wisps, and it burst apart into a hundred misty tendrils, curling up and dissipating into the dank air.

A few yards further down, D encountered the first hint of the wet, metallic scent of blood. And with every step after that, the smell became more pungent, more stifling, until it was so strong, it began to give him a headache. But he was almost to his destination now: although it was far too dark for any human to see, D could distinguish the flat surface of a door at the abrupt end of the tunnel- and he could tell that it was made of badly rusted iron, and that the coppery red odor was coming from behind it. D raised his hand towards the door, preparing to push against it- but the door moved before his fingers reached it- and swung inwards with a shrieking scrape of metal against stone.

The reek of blood assaulted him. He hunched his shoulders and let out a single coughing gasp, gritting his teeth and resolving not to be overwhelmed. With a firm, determined stride, he pushed his way through incipient dizziness and stepped into the cavernous room. The iron door slammed shut behind him, and D scrambled forward to avoid a warm waterfall of blood that fell like a thin silk curtain over the door as soon as it was shut.

D looked around in disbelief. The ceiling of the spherical cavern loomed fifty feet above his head. The entire room, and the solitary tomb it contained, had been carved from one uniform deposit of stone. Indeed, it was the only hollow pocket in a solid layer of stone that was nearly a thousand feet thick. This 'mausoleum' was no resting place for the dead. It was a fortress. Even if the world above were laid to ruin, neither flood nor fire would ever touch this indestructible sanctuary.

Had there been any light, D knew that every inch of room would be that luscious, liquid color red- for the entire cavern had been painted with wet blood, enchanted so that it would never dry out and crumble away- instead, for all eternity, it would ripple outwards from the tomb in a liquid sheet, eventually splitting into narrower, vein-like trails and running in warm rivulets _up_ the concave walls and across the domed ceiling, accumulating in a gravity-defying puddle until, drop by drop, it fell from the very center of the ceiling down to the tomb.

The tomb itself was a roughly rectangular stone vault. It was twelve feet high, and there were no ornaments, no inscriptions or engravings anywhere on it- it was just black, immortal, immutable stone. The sharp _plink_ of the dripping blood was the only sound to be heard.

Until his father spoke.

_"It's good to see you again, D." _

The smooth, dignified voice seemed out of place in the horrific setting. On top of the tomb a dark form began to take shape, condensing from the space around it much as the three beautiful women had done- but this shape wasn't that of human. Soon a giant wolf was sitting on its haunches atop the bloody tomb, with its thick, bristling fur as black as midnight, and the twin circles of its eyes glowing scarlet.

The wolf stared evenly at D, its expression utterly unassuming. Though D knew the creature was ancient, an almost childlike air of curiosity cloaked the wizened beast. "I knew that you'd return someday," the wolf said in that rolling voice. "What do you think of my mausoleum? It has served me well through countless catastrophes. The Huns, the Mongols, the Turks- none of their invasions breached the security of this special place. I made this sanctuary to protect and sustain myself forever."

"It's disgusting," D said softly, taking a step forward. "And a fitting place for you to die."

A gleam of amusement flickered across the wolf's eyes. "So this is it," the beast said, its tone almost reverent. "_This_ is the destiny you have created, to replace the one _I _offered you, the one _you_ refused." The wolf lowered its nose towards its broad chest, its ears turning back as its glowing eyes narrowed. "I wonder… are the gods pitying you, or punishing you, by allowing you to pursue your chosen fate? For until your spirit, your body, or your mind finally breaks, you will be a prisoner of despair and relentless misery."

"That doesn't matter," D said. "As long as you're dead."

The wolf laughed. "Ah, D. I'm appalled at how short-sighted you're being. You'll never kill me. You may hunt me for all eternity, and fight me with all your strength- but as the epochs rise and fall, and civilizations bloom and wither- _I _will always exist. I will not be destroyed."

"We'll see about that," D replied flatly, unimpressed. The wolf slowly shook its head side to side, but it seemed to be smiling, and there was unmistakable pride gleaming in its garnet eyes.

"You know, the prodigal son in the old story came home after the world had weakened him. But you've done well for yourself in the human world. Your experiences have strengthened you. And, now that you've grown up, I see you've finally decided to follow your father's advice."

D frowned slightly.

"Don't you remember?" the wolf asked, its smile more pronounced. "The last time I saw you, I told you that you had better bring a sword with you if you ever came back." The wolf shifted its gaze to the weapon in D's hand, and suddenly the red eyes flashed. "I recognize that blade," the creature breathed. "You must have met Raban."

D nodded once.

"I haven't spoken to him since he tried to conscript my people to the Turks in the 1400s," the wolf muttered. "Tell me. Does he still cling to that human pet name given him by one of his human pets?"

"Yes," D answered evenly, nodding again. His father chuckled.

"Ah, _Hraban_- those were the days, D. The dark days of the Wolf and the Raven. Together we wove fear into the fabric of humanity. We created their fear of darkness; cultivated their terror. It's a shame that his lust for our craft turned into a lust for _answers_," the wolf scoffed, long teeth revealed by its sneer. "His interminable _questioning_, and his futile obsession with _that…_ _religion…_ brought about his downfall."

D narrowed his eyes a bit. "Didn't _you_ ever wonder…" he asked quietly.

"Oh yes, D. When the sun surrenders at the last gasp of day, and power rises within me like a tide, I wonder… and when that same tide recedes at the first innocent whisper of dawn, I question- and I do not remember a time when it was not so."

"But you just accept that you'll never understand?" D asked.

"No. Because someday, I _will_ understand. Haven't you been paying attention to the latest half-century? _Science_ is the way of the future. I _will_ find the answer to the riddle of my own existence. I will identify and isolate the source of my power. And then the possibilities will be… well, you'll see. Someday, the technology will exist –I'll create it myself if necessary-- to solve all the mysteries."

D could hardly believe what he was hearing. Was his father actually suggesting that there might be _scientific_ answers to the world of superstitions, horrors, and nightmares? A scientific explanation for ever-thirsting immortal beings without reflections, repelled by crucifixes, who could be set aflame by the sun? Science was the trajectory of an artillery shell, the shape of an airfoil, the torque of an engine. Science was even the power of a single bomb that could destroy an entire city… but surely there were limits to science. Surely science had nothing to do with the King of the Vampires, who was currently sitting in his own ancient sanctuary, in the form of a great shaggy wolf…

"Perhaps I've told you too much," the wolf conceded, as D said nothing. "I only want you to know that the destiny you've shouldered directly conflicts with my interests. So if you've seriously come here to kill me, I hope you're prepared to be disappointed."

D decided he'd had enough of the conversation. Leaping forward, he slashed at the wolf, aiming to cut it in half, but instantly the wolf disappeared- sinking down through the solid stone surface of the vault. D heard a low chuckle coming from within the tomb. Without hesitating for a single second, and without any expression on his face at all, D projected an explosion of dark energy at the sacred vault. There was a sound like a sonic boom, and the liquid blood covering the vault instantly dissolved into millions of tiny pellets and scattered in all directions-- and in the same instant the age-old stone rippled and buckled and crumbled.

A shadowy form, darker than the surrounding darkness, fled from the rubble. D followed it with his eyes, and saw that it was still the wolf- and now it was running lithely up the wall to the ceiling, as naturally as any lizard might have done- and without waiting another minute D focused on the wolf and sent another blast of dark power arching towards it. The corresponding explosion shook the entire cavern, and the pool of blood in the center of the ceiling came raining down around D in a furious shower, in droplets as fine as a mist, but traveling with such velocity that D felt like he was being battered in a sandstorm- but he didn't even flinch-- his gaze was locked on the wolf.

The beast seemed unharmed. It still clung to the stone of the ceiling, and it turned its shaggy head to stare down at D, its round red eyes glowing with fascination. D tightened his grip on his sword. He couldn't walk up the wall but he could jump… although the vertical distance was considerable, and he had just destroyed what could have been a very convenient twelve-foot high stepstool. The rubble of the tomb was still several feet high, and D decided to try it. He sprinted at the pile of broken stone, used its highest point as a springboard, and shot into the air, directly towards the wolf. In midair, D saw the wolf smirk at him and slink out of his way- but D didn't adjust the aim of his sword, and a split second later the blade stabbed into the ceiling, sinking at least a foot into the stone and becoming an anchor- so that another second later, D had his feet pressed against the ceiling and was keeping himself in place by holding onto his sword-- a difficult feat for the strongest athlete, but it didn't seem to require much effort for D.

The wolf was laughing at him. As it laughed, it leaned back into the air until it was standing on its hind legs- and its torso seemed to stretch, its outline blurring- it was obviously transitioning to human form, and D didn't want to miss an opportunity- he reached for a makeshift holster at his side, pulled out a wooden stake, and hurled it at the creature's heart—

And his father caught it easily in his hand.

"Please," Dracula said, releasing the stake so that it fell fifty feet to the floor of the cavern below. "If you're going to try that trick, you'll have to learn to throw a good deal faster than _that_."

D didn't reply. They were both upside down, standing on the ceiling- of course, D was only managing to stay there because his sword was stuck deep into the stone. D was mustering his strength, preparing for the next attack- and his father sensed that, and narrowed his eyes, making his own preparations.

At once, they both projected black masses of power, and two identical spheres of surging, condensed darkness collided and consumed each other, instantly filling the cavern with a violent maelstrom of energy.

And then the indestructible stone sanctuary shattered as if it were as fragile as a hollow globe of glass.

The world became eerily quiet, and D felt himself begin to fall…

* * *

Author's note: thanks again for all the reviews, you guys make me so happy! 

Insane history buffs will note that the 'real' Dracula really did have a brother who tried to sell his people to the Turks in the 1400s… Dracula mentions that briefly to poor Johnny Harker during his big 'history lesson' spiel, and that's where I got the idea for the character of ol' Aldrich Raban.

Now there's only two chapters left! The next one's the best! Heheheh…


	25. A Battle Fought

A/N: for this story, there are two ways that a dhampir can be turned into a vampire. The first is if the dhampir drinks the life out of a human (see chapters 6-7 and 12-13). So technically the dhampir could drink just a little and not be changed, but he/she would have to be _very_ careful not to go too far. The other way (at least in this story) is if a vampire turns the dhampir through the standard I-drink-your-blood-you-drink-mine process. Ok, on with the story!

Chapter 25: A Battle Fought

A repercussive shock wave of dark energy came coursing through the crumbling cavern, catching D in midair. He felt himself being flipped around, and lost all spatial references- which way was up? What direction was gravity pulling him? He couldn't tell. Something was happening all around him- some cataclysmic transformation was underway, rupturing the stone flesh of the mountain; destroying it with an unprecedented expenditure of energy. And D knew that all of it was his father's doing.

Suddenly light from the outside world flooded the space around him- it was nearly midnight, but of course the open sky was far brighter than the complete darkness that had been in the former underground sanctuary. D turned and glimpsed the stars, which seemed blindingly bright. But at least now he knew which way was up.

Sound returned next, first as a buzzing whisper, and then as a howl of wind, and D felt gravity return and exert itself- and a second later, he landed cat-like on the ground. What had happened? D took in his new surroundings with a quick glance. What had been the floor of the cavernous mausoleum was now the bottom of a massive bowl-like crater, with the open night sky above it. The walls and ceiling of the cavern were gone. All of that solid stone, hundreds of feet thick, had been vaporized. D recognized the line of the mountains on the horizon, and knew that he was approximately half a mile west of the castle.

Suddenly D sensed something behind him- he spun around, and found himself face to face with his father. He brought up his sword, but Dracula grabbed it by the hilt, and for a second they struggled against each other for control of the blade until at last the ancient king overwhelmed his son and sent him tumbling backwards. D recovered to his feet and held his position, prepared to attack, breathing in quiet gasps.

"You're weakened," Dracula observed in a low, almost cautious voice.

"So are you," D returned in the same tone.

Dracula smiled. "_Very good_," he said huskily, and his shoulders quivered. "Yes… once again, you found a way to make me use too much of my strength too quickly. I'm impressed. The dark power… you've already learned to control it. Tell me. What did it take for you to master such chaos?"

A cold wind stirred the dust at their feet. D heard a ripple of thunder in the distance. "Terror," D replied. "And hatred. I felt what all your victims have felt… and I realized… that I could fight back."

Dracula narrowed his eyes, studying D's calm expression, and then his gaze drifted to the sword in D's hand. "He didn't… my _brother_ didn't make you his victim, did he?"

"He did," D said. Dracula clenched his fists, his expression wild and furious.

"That fool!" the vampire snarled. "Your blood belongs to me, _you_ belong to me! I'll kill him for that. Oh, I _shall_ kill him."

"He's already dead," D said emotionlessly.

"_What?_" for a second, Dracula looked surprised, though it didn't diminish his anger. "How?"

"Suicide."

Dracula laughed bitterly. The cold wind gusted stronger, and in his peripheral vision D detected a sinister mass of clouds creeping over the mountaintops. "_Suicide!_ A noteworthy accomplishment, to be sure. He probably attempted self-crucifixion, fanatic that he was."

"No, he fell on his sword."

"I suppose that's a fitting death as well. It's a pity. I must say, he would have been extremely useful for my research. But what's done is done. There are other Nobles whose blood is nearly as pure as his. And, of course, there's _you_."

The air was getting noticeably cooler, but it was something in his father's voice that made D feel chilled. Distant lightning flickered above them in the night sky, and D attacked again. Two slashes in rapid succession, and the second met flesh, managing to knick the vampire's shoulder. Dracula covered the tiny wound with his hand, healing it instantly, and simultaneously cast a spell over D's sword so that the weapon froze in place. D tightened his grip on the hilt and pulled, but the sword wouldn't budge. Adapting instantly to the situation, D left the sword suspended supernaturally in the air and darted towards his father. Another wooden stake was already in his hand.

But Dracula had foreseen D's course of action, and the instant the dhampir released the sword, the ancient king called the weapon to his own hand. And so, just as D was barely within range of stabbing his father through the heart, he found himself facing the point of his own blade. Dracula ducked and lunged forward, smiling savagely.

The sword plunged into D just under the ribs, slicing cleanly through the soft tissue and organs there, finally bursting through the skin of his back, right beside his spine. Dracula automatically twisted the blade to its side, and with a single forceful jerk, he sawed through the knobby bones.

"_kch!_" A cry of pain lodged in D's throat as he collapsed forward across his father's shoulders. Dracula stood up, roughly shoving D off his back, and withdrew the sword. With his spine severed, D had no choice but to lie on the ground at his father's feet, desperately commanding himself to heal.

The Vampire King studied the length of the blade, letting a drop of D's blood fall from it and onto the tip of his finger. This drop of blood he raised before his face, studying it intently. "So much potential," he muttered, his ruby eyes gleaming with approval. "You are an extraordinary creature, my son. The envy of every dhampir… no-- the envy of every vampire."

D groaned quietly, and managed to press his right hand against the cruel slit across his stomach. The fabric of his shirt and coat there was already soaked with blood. Had his father drawn the sword out diagonally instead of horizontally, D knew he would probably be scooping up his guts at that moment. He winced and gritted his teeth as he felt his spine begin to reassemble. How many minutes would it be before he could move his legs? Dracula was smiling at him coldly. "Well now. Do you still think you're going to kill me?" D forced himself to look up at his father. The squall line was moving rapidly towards them, obscuring the stars as it rolled angrily across the sky. "Right now it's amusing to play this game with you," Dracula said smoothly. "But if you ever become a real threat, I will simply-" he vanished, and the sword fell to the earth. "-_disappear_." D reached for the abandoned sword as his father's voice echoed around him in the wind.

"I'll find you," D swore. "No matter where you hide, I will hunt you down."

Dracula reappeared, standing on the other side of D. He was still smiling, but now it seemed that an element of regret was etched into his features. "I believe you're serious about that," he said, narrowing his scarlet eyes. "And… as the years go by, you will become a great inconvenience to me."

Lightning cracked the sky. D's foot twitched- his recovery was almost complete. He wrapped his fingers around the hilt of his sword, preparing to attack the instant he was able, and not caring that his father was expecting it.

"I've made a decision," Dracula said, stepping closer. "I will not have you as my enemy." The heavy roar of thunder framed his words. "It is time… for you to see things from my point of view."

"I'd rather die than be turned," D told him gruffly.

"Nonsense," Dracula said, with a knowing smile. "You'll still be free to walk in the sun, you know. You'll still be able to live among the humans if you so desire. The only difference will be that you will agree with me about the future, and you _will _take your sustenance from human veins. That won't be so awful, will it? Half of you, the stronger half, already yearns for that appeasement. Why are you so afraid of it?"

Vivid branches of lightning flashed, and this time the corresponding peals of thunder were directly overhead. The ripping boom of the storm-torn heavens nearly drowned out D's soft reply. "Maybe because I don't want to be _you_."

Gnashing his teeth, Dracula fell on his son, pinning the dhampir's arms to the ground. D knew it was pointless to struggle but he tried anyway, and found that he could move not an inch. "You _will_ thank me for this," the Vampire King hissed. As lightning lashed the roiling clouds, D saw his reflection in his father's glowing eyes, and saw exactly what he would become, if he ever became a vampire. He saw the frenzied, grotesque aggressiveness that warped his father's face. He saw the thirsty passion for killing in the shining scarlet eyes, and the long wolf-like fangs… he saw not the sophisticated, artistic, and romantic creature that a vampire _could_ be when it maintained its composure. He saw what a vampire really _was_, beneath its arrogant pretenses: a monster.

_No-_ he would NOT be made a vampire. His human side was his dominant side, after all, and it cried out for him to resist to the limit of his endurance. If some cold corner of his heart was tempted to succumb, he wasn't aware of it then. Propelled by a wave of that mysterious dark power, D's resolution buckled outward, followed by his final attempt at an attack- using every last ounce of physical and mental strength, D projected a blast of that destructive energy at the monster crouching over him, and would have surely ripped the evil creature apart, if at the last millisecond Dracula had not called on an identical power and projected it as both an offensive measure and a shield for himself.

Between father and son the two forces met once again, sizzling and crackling. The ground beneath D shuddered, and St. Elmo's fire danced madly in the air above Dracula. Each was trying to push the devastating layer of energy through the defenses of the other. D was fighting for his life, and for a full minute or more it seemed like he might have had a chance.

But at last his strength faltered. The turbulent sheet of dark energy sank through him, causing him to kick once or twice in pain as his nervous system, which had been almost fully restored, was violently disabled once again. Now he was unable to breathe, unable to blink- but he was still conscious, at least for the moment.

"There," his father muttered, sounding exhausted rather than triumphant. "You see? It will be over soon." The Vampire King took one last look into those dark blue eyes. "Go to sleep, D," he said, and reached out his hand to physically close D's eyelids, as if the dhampir were already dead. "I'll take care of everything," he muttered, his tone obviously intended to be reassuring.

_Don't._ D thought desperately, knowing his father could hear him. _Don't. Don't. Please._

"I said go to sleep!"

…_Please. _It was the last thought D had before slipping into oblivion.

Dracula waited a moment for the echo of D's voice to fade from his mind. The boy was so strong, so _worthy_… the old king wanted to see D ruling the world at his side. Having him as an enemy would be inconvenient… but that wasn't the real reason that Dracula wanted to turn him.

In truth, seeing D exercising his free will over which nature he nourished and indulged… it was too painful a reminder of _her_, the one he had loved. Who had loved _him_… and their son. Why couldn't the boy understand that it was over? Her spirit lived on in him-- which wasn't right. D should have given in to his darker half by now, and _her _spirit _should_ have been long gone and forgotten by the world. She was human, she was only a human! It infuriated him to see D the way he was, doomed to _not belong_, doomed to suffer… _why?_ Was it really what she wanted? Was it really… what _D_ wanted?

Suddenly he remembered something from when D was a little boy. Dracula had found D one day unconscious in the forest. Not far from their present location, actually. When little D woke up later that day, Dracula had given him a bit of a lecture. _'Your mother is dead,'_ he had told the boy. '_The choices open to us are to rot forever in misery or to take our rightful place in the world, as kings.'_ And the little blue-eyed boy had replied, _'I'd rather rot!'_

Dracula smiled at the recollection, and gazed down at his unconscious son, considering a new possibility. "Perhaps that's the answer," he whispered aloud. "Perhaps that really is the only way to put her spirit to rest. Though it would be a wasteful shame to lose you… if it's what you want… it's what she'd want, too." He admired D's features for another moment, knowing it was the closest that he would ever come to looking in a mirror. "How ironic," he muttered. "You came here to kill me… but now _I _will kill you."

He raised his blood-colored eyes to the angry heavens, searching the thunderclouds. "_So be it_," he said after a final moment of consideration. He covered D's heart with his right hand, and lifted the other skyward. "I will end your suffering," he whispered.

From all directions, streaks of lightning converged in Dracula's outstretched hand, summoned there by his unspoken command. It was as if all the power of the storm had been sucked out of the sky all at once, and brought together at that one point- and the Vampire King directed the deadly current through his own body, down his right arm, and into D.

The rumbling thunder faded, and the wind calmed. The sky was completely overcast now, and the air seemed thick and impatient. Dracula studied the body of his son. There was no heartbeat anymore. The dhampir's blood was slowing, stopping, beginning to pool. He was dead. The ancient king waited a moment, almost respectfully, to allow the soul or the half-soul, if there was one, to wander free of the body and depart. Once he was sure that there was no lingering remnant of the boy's spirit, he leaned forward and slid one arm beneath D's shoulders.

Gracefully, the kneeling vampire cradled his dead son in his arms.

"What's done is done," Dracula repeated quietly. With a soft rushing sound, the rain broke from the clouds at last, pummeling the dusty ground in intense cascades. The world was immediately drenched. Like all his subjects, the ancient king hated the rain, but felt compelled to remain in reverence beside his fallen son for at least another moment…

_"Thank god!"_ a raspy voice uttered, mere seconds after the rain began.

Instantly Dracula bared his fangs, his expression contorted in infernal rage. "What demon dares thank God in my presence?" he demanded. "Reveal yourself!"

The order was met by nothing more than the steady, deafening rush of the downpour. "You _Must_ answer me!" the vampire's voice rumbled, more threatening than the thunder. "I command you to tell me your name!"

"_I have none_," the demon replied obediently, its tone somewhat taunting. The rain was pouring down with even more intensity. The water was already two inches deep at the base of the recently-formed crater, and rising with each passing second.

"Yet you speak," Dracula hissed, unable to identify the source of the voice. "What is your host?" his eyes focused on the sword still clutched in his son's right hand. Considering the weapon's former owner, it would make sense for it to be possessed. "Answer me!" the vampire barked. "What hosts your presence?"

"…_Your_… _son,_" the demon replied painfully, as though the words were being torn out of it.

Dracula snarled, wolf-like, gnashing his teeth. "You dare to possess the dead body of my son? I will not allow it! I curse you back to the hell of your origin! Be gone!"

The demon snickered. "Is that really the best exorcism you can manage? Pathetic!"

"I say again," Dracula growled. "You may _not_ use this body as your host. Get out, or be destroyed."

"I'm stayin' put," the demon declared, drinking as fast as it could to avoid being completely submerged in the ever-growing puddle of rainwater.

"Then I have no choice," the vampire said gravely, tortured by the rain. "I will spare his body from both demonic possession and the ugly ritual of decay." His scarlet eyes were cold as he laid his son back on the ground. Vaguely he recalled that water had been his enemy before there was light, and the torrential rain was preventing his power from replenishing itself normally- but it was Night, and nothing would stop the Vampire King from accomplishing that final violent task, that final service to his dead child. He reached out with one hand and covered D's face. He would call on the power he had used earlier to vaporize the mass of stone, and use it to tear D's lifeless body apart atom from atom.

Darkness itself flowed eagerly towards its King, accumulating around him in a swirling, convulsing ball, gaining density and magnitude. Dracula closed his eyes and sent that dark force tearing through D's body, starting with his skull down through every bone of his skeleton, racing from his heart through his arteries to all his veins and capillaries, suffusing every cell and fiber, in order to corrupt and dissolve everything on the molecular level. In the next instant, D's body would burst into less than dust- but just as that dark destructive power saturated him, in that very instant, it encountered an obstacle: another power, a generative power-- the ultimate magic, the purest condensation of energy, the force of _life_ itself.

It happened in a flash. D was alive again. Reflexively, like the severed head of a serpent, his teeth snapped at whatever was hovering over his mouth, and caught his father's wrist, startling the vampire enough to disrupt his focus. And before either of them realized it, the sword still held fast in D's hand flashed upwards, and the blade buried itself in the ancient vampire's heart.

Dracula's scarlet eyes widened at the sight of his trapped wrist-- D's seldom-bared fangs had gone straight through the bones. D's dark eyes seemed devoid of any sign of either surprise or victory. Dracula met his gaze for the briefest instant, and disappeared.

Right away, D dropped the sword. It splashed into the accumulated rainwater. D rolled over onto his hands and knees, clenching his eyes shut, choking-- and he spat out a mouthful of his father's blood. Shakily he sat up, absently wiping his mouth on the back of his hand, staring at the blood as it slowly diffused into nothingness in the water.

_Water!_ D realized with a start what must have happened. Everything had been so still and quiet for a minute, and for at least a minute after that, there was nothing. D was pretty sure that he had died. The demon in his hand had taken fire, air, and earth earlier, but had refused to tell D what it was planning. Once it managed to consume that fourth precious element, what had it done?

Weakly D turned his left hand over, holding it out of the water and looking down at it blankly. "Hey," D said after a minute, when the familiar ugly face didn't appear. "What did you do?"

No response. D frowned just slightly, his mind still racing over the recent events. Had he… _won?_ Was his father gone? No… He'd been stabbed through the heart. But he hadn't collapsed into ashes and dust-- D knew for certain that Dracula had vanished under his own power. Gravely injured… but not dead, not yet. But with his underground sanctuary ruined, where would he hole up to heal?

D abandoned that train of thought as he realized that the demon in his hand hadn't replied. "Hey," he repeated gruffly, making his left hand into a fist a few times. Still, there was only the smooth surface of D's palm, the rain splattering against it. D rubbed the skin of his palm with the thumb of his other hand, right about where the beady black eyes were supposed to be-- that never failed to get the thing's attention. "I'm talking to you," D said, not at all accustomed to being ignored. "What happened?…"

Slowly D began to consider another possibility. What if, in the process of helping him, the demon had… gotten out? Or what if it had been overwhelmed, and destroyed?

"You… you saved me, didn't you?" D asked tentatively. Still no sign of the wrinkled face. What if the demon's very existence, with the help of those four elements, had been transmuted –or traded-- to bring D back to life? D wasn't sure what to think. If it was really gone...

D stared at the blank surface of his palm for a few more minutes. The rain had let up slightly, but was still pouring steadily from the midnight sky. That wrinkled, grinning face, the gruff but friendly voice that loved to tease and scold him… D hadn't even been able to thank it for what it had done. D's shoulders trembled gently. A moment or two passed, and D brought his left hand to rest in his lap so that the brim of his hat kept most of the rain from it. But when he closed his eyes and bent his head forward slightly, water trickled down his face and dripped onto his palm anyway.

"Gotcha! Buwahahahah!"

D tried to scowl but failed. "I knew you weren't gone," he muttered.

"Well I WAS knocked out for a little bit, actually. That was a hell of a close call. But, lo and behold, I woke up just in time to witness this amazing phenomenon--" the ugly little face grinned at him. "Saltwater rain! Imagine that!"

D smiled.

"What the…" the demon said, sounding genuinely disturbed. "Okay, now I'm scared. I could understand the tears of joy, when you thought you might actually have gotten rid of me, but now you're freaking me out."

"Thank you," D said quickly, before another second elapsed.

"For what, saving your ass? Heh! It's not like anybody else was going to get around to it, including you. You know how he actually finished you off? Lightning! He electrocuted you. But we can be sure that never happens again- I saw what he did and I'm sure that you can learn to do it too. But never mind that now- what do you think you're doing, sitting around sniveling like this-- Are you trying to take a bath in this puddle or something? We need to get back to the castle!"

D reached for his sword, and staggered to his feet.


	26. A Promise Kept

Chapter 26: A Promise Kept

When D reached the castle gate it opened for him before he'd given it a single thought. The two horses were right where he and Hesselius had left them on the terrazzo at the base of the broad stone steps. They looked at D intently as he stalked past them through the still-pouring rain.

The massive door at the top of the stairs also threw itself open for him, and once he stepped inside, it closed itself quietly rather than slamming shut as it always had. The candles along the walls of great hall were already lit, requiring no signal from D. There was no sign of the three female vampires or the human man who had sworn to deal with them.

Suddenly D became aware of a strange sensation, the like of which he'd never felt before. His clothes, which were thoroughly soaked, were drying at an unnatural rate. Almost as soon as he realized it, the process was complete- his clothes were dry. He looked at the sleeve of his coat just in time to see a rip in the heavy fabric finish stitching itself shut- and the slightly frayed cuff was magically repairing itself until it looked brand new. D narrowed his eyes. This was unusual. Even the mud from his boots had somehow been removed, simply by him stepping through the door.

"_Vivaldi?_" asked a gentle, feminine voice.

D turned his head in surprise and recognized the cold, shadowy presence that spoke to him. It was one of the ghostly inhabitants of the castle-- as a child he had often heard them whispering, but had never understood their speech clearly.

"Ah… _Mussorgsky, _perhaps?" the shadowy voice suggested, when D didn't answer.

"...No," D said, suddenly remembering the nights when he had overheard his father come through the door and imperiously shout out the name of some random composer. D had never heard the music generated by those commands. But something told him that he might be able to hear it now.

The ghostly shadow wavered in front of him, and D sensed a sort of _deference_ from it as it vanished. D knew better than anyone just how haunted and enchanted the castle was, so he didn't think much of the strange encounter, and instead hurried onwards in search of Hesselius. Accompanied by a heavy sense of dread, D got the feeling that a good place to look would be his sisters' chambers… the lavishly decorated rooms that contained the perfumed caskets they slept in daily. On his way up the stairs, however, something stopped him in his tracks.

On the first landing, there had always been a large canvas in a gilded frame; an unnervingly lifelike portrait of his father. D had never paid it much attention. The inscription at the bottom of the frame unnecessarily identified the imposing figure in the painting as _Master of the Castle_. Critically, D looked it over. The moon-pale face was somber, the eyes half-closed in contemplation. D realized immediately what it was that bothered him. The eyes in the painting weren't the luminous, jewel-like scarlet color that they were supposed to be.

It was hard to tell exactly what color they were instead… but in the dim candlelight, they might have been sea-grey.

"_Côtes du Rhône?_" It was a different voice than before. D whirled to face another shadow, that was somehow holding aloft a glass of fragrant red wine.

Almost angrily, D knocked the offered glass out of the specter's invisible hand. It shattered on the stairs, and slowly both the wine and the shards of glass disappeared, as if being absorbed by the castle itself. The ghostly presence wavered, preparing to depart- "Wait," D commanded, and it froze in place. "What's going on?"

"You are weary, my lord," the shadow answered softly. "A sip of refreshment…"

D shook his head slightly, feeling impatient. "This painting…" he began, glancing up at it mistrustfully.

"Does it displease you?" the specter asked solemnly.

D hesitated. The shadow hovered silently in front of him, and D found that by looking _through_ it, he could almost bring its features into focus. There was certainly more to the creature's appearance than a shadow, but D's human blood prevented him from seeing it. "…Do you know who I am?" D asked uncomfortably.

"Of course," the shadow replied gravely. "You are our master."

D felt chilled. "And my father?"

"Left us in your care," said the shadow reverently.

D shook his head again, turning away from the specter. "I'll sort this out later," he muttered, and hurried up the stairs.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

He found what he was looking for in the corridor outside his sisters' rooms. That entire wing of the castle boasted Victorian décor, and consequently the corridor was lit by elegant glass-vase gas lamps. Hesselius was slumped against the wall, reeking of blood… one hand was in his pocket, the other was pressed futilely to his perforated neck and there was blood smeared messily over his chin and the front of his shirt. He didn't look up as D approached.

"What took you so long?" the man asked hoarsely, but his tone was as amicable as ever. "You missed all the excitement!" D noticed that a considerable quantity of the man's blood had soaked into the carpet around him, and from the smell of things, even more of it had been left behind in the bedrooms beyond the closed doors… "Well? Come along, man, it's bad form to keep the dying in suspense. Tell me what happened! Did you fight him? Did you kill him?"

"We fought," D said quietly, finding his voice. "But he escaped."

"Saints in heaven, that's a pity," Hess muttered. "But by God, you'll see to his end one of these days, I'll wager."

"Yes," D said.

Hesselius grinned weakly. "That blonde one was easy to kill. Your sisters put up a decent fight, but I got them too. Not before they got _me_, unfortunately. I suppose I won't be waking up, now that you're here. It's just as well. I doubt I could tolerate the disgrace of being one of the very things I was born to hunt, or having my own Mum put a bounty on my head…"

"You're certain?" D asked softly.

"Of course I'm certain! They both drank my blood, D, and I drank both of theirs. Hmm. Yes, I'm _quite _sure I'm doomed to wake up with fangs. Just… just hurry it up and kill me! Do your goddamned job, man! Heavens above, of all the hunters in the world, I wind up facing the one who has to ask me if I'm 'certain'…"

Hesselius's theatrical bravery did a commendable job masking the tremble of fear in his voice, but D heard it there all the same. It was the end for this man, this human who had devoted his life to hunting vampires. D would have to kill him. The sword in D's hand felt suddenly heavy.

Hess finally looked up at the one who would deliver him. "Hey," he said soberly after a quiet moment. "That's just how it is. The life… of a hunter. That's… how it is." There was genuine compassion in his voice as it trailed to a whisper. "All right?"

"…All right," D agreed, his voice calmingly soft. He nodded once, and raised his sword with both hands.

Hesselius returned the nod and closed his eyes. He took his hand away from his bruised and feebly-bleeding neck and proudly raised his chin, resting his head back against the wall, presenting an unambiguous target.

The sword flashed in the glow of the gas lamps.

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"So you're really the master of the castle?" D's left hand asked at last, sounding amused.

"For now," D admitted.

It was nearly sunrise. D had spent the small hours of the morning wandering through the castle, searching through his father's offices for some clue as to where Dracula might have retreated. The ghostly 'servants' could tell him nothing more than what he already knew: his father was gone though not destroyed-- and until he returned, the castle belonged to D.

"Wait, wait, wait: Does that make YOU the King of the Vampires?" the demon asked teasingly.

"I don't think so."

The demon laughed. "Master of the Castle! Well. This might not be such a bad thing, you know? You could really get used to this! Live a life of luxury for a couple centuries… go look for your dad again…"

D sighed. He was standing on the balcony where his father had been standing the previous evening, when D had first ridden over the mountain pass. The rain had finally ceased, and the imminent dawn seemed to be pressing away the remaining clouds.

"You're pretty worn out," the gruff voice observed. "You really ought to think about getting some sleep. Care to try that coffin on for size?"

D looked over his shoulder at his father's open coffin, and then narrowed his eyes as he flipped his palm over to gaze at the madly grinning face. "Sometimes, you aren't funny," D remarked evenly.

"Aw, come on! Looks like it's got red velvet pillows, heh heh— _that's_ not tacky at _all_. But of course if you'd rather have black, I'm sure you can redecoraaaaaa!" the hand's teasing commentary became a scream as the dhampir attached to it took the shortcut down to the terrazzo by leaping off the balcony.

"…ok, now THAT was unnecessary," the demon gasped as D landed lightly on his feet and headed for the gate. "What were trying to do, fly? It's not like there was anything wrong with the _stairs_, you know. If you _must_ pull stunts like that, can't you at least wait until there are some ladies around to impress? ...Hey! Where are you going? Are you seriously leaving?"

D was making his way through the woods.

"Not yet," D said.

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The distance seemed a lot shorter now than it had when he was little. Fleetingly he remembered all the times he had eagerly traveled this route… through the woods… to the Belus's cottage and the human companionship he'd found there. Before long the humble building came into view. It was completely and unnaturally overgrown with wild roses, but looked protected rather than smothered, wrapped in its flowery blanket. And in a clearing beside the house was a beautiful white marble tomb. The roses grew there, too, though not as plentifully, as if the plants themselves were reluctant to cover the beauty of the sculpted stone.

D knew it would be here, this beautiful tomb. It was the monument that his father built for the woman he killed at the event marking the start of his 'plan' for the future. The end of her life had propelled D into the human world, where eventually he found not an answer but a course to follow. He had been directed to his mission by a human, and taught how to accomplish it by a vampire- but he had _chosen_ it for himself. He knew what he was and what he would always be, and he was committed to whatever existence he would have to endure as a penalty for his choice.

The fresh light of morning breached the horizon as D approached the hallowed place. His faint shadow, like that of a thin cloth, appeared on the side of the tomb. D was captivated by the beauty of the monument. There were images and figures carved into every inch of the marble surface: graceful deer with delicate ears held up as if aware of their visitor, stone flowers so intricate and realistic that they seemed destined to wilt, angels that gazed out kindly with old Mrs. Belus's warm smile replicated perfectly on their stone faces.

But there was one feature in particular, a carving of two children, that captured D's attention. It was a scene of a boy and a girl, sitting cross-legged next to each other under flowering trees, a large book open between them. The little boy had pointed ears.

D reached out and touched the marble, remembering. His thoughts drifted quietly over the events and experiences that had brought him from that moment of his childhood to the place he now stood. Tasia's awful death. Samantha. Aldrich and his conclusions about vampires. Hesselius. Tasia's grandchildren in the photograph, that D would never meet. D had seen how humans could be so quick to forget as a society, and yet so determined to hold on as individuals. Their lives were fragile and all too often tragic. D would hunt vampires for their sake, and someday… he would finally kill his father. D had accepted the burden of that destiny, and was at peace with his identity.

Slowly, he walked around to the other side of the tomb, the side that would remain untouched by the sun until midday. D admired the intricate carvings there too. Then, carefully, he sat down with his back against the tomb. "Your mother asked me to visit," he said softly, and looked up at the brightening sky. Birds sang, undisturbed by his presence. "I'm sorry it took me so long. Now…I think I need to rest for a bit," he confessed, seeming not at all uncomfortable speaking aloud in the tranquil setting. "And I'd be grateful… for the shade."

The white stone granted its silent consent, and there in the shadow of his past, D closed his eyes.

The End

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Author's notes: waaah! It's over! It's really over! I can't believe it! In case you were wondering, D's age at the end here is approximately 180 years old (182, to be exact), and in my mind that correlates to same 'age' as an 18-yr-old human. And now… I've finished the portrait. He's all grown up! sob… It's finally over… And Lefty didn't even come up with a smartass remark for the last line! Sniffle. I loved writing this. That line up there, about D being at peace with his identity? I nearly replaced that with "and sunbune is at peace with his history", because that's really what this is about. I NEEDED to know where D came from, and what his past was like, and so I made up this story. I still want to know the _real_ story, but for now, I am satisfied, and maybe some of you feel that way too. Thank you so much, everyone who reviewed. I love you all! There will be one more chapter with 'special features' including deleted scenes, if anybody wants to see them… let me know. And thanks again!


	27. deleted scenes etc

A/N: Howdy! This is my way to cope with the 'loss' (i.e. conclusion) of the long-beloved project known to me as my 'little D story' and to you as _Portrait of the Hunter._ Here you will find a 'cliffsnotes-summary' chapter guide and many 'deleted scenes', which are really just parts that got as far as the typing stage before they were edited and/or rewritten. Sometimes only a few words or sentences were changed, but I'm always curious about what authors edit and why… and if you feel that way too, then I hope you will enjoy…

**Chapter 27: Special features!**

_Author's_ _Outline:_

Chapters 1-8: the most important choice

Chapter 9: witnessing war

Chapters 10-13: the Samantha ordeal

Chapter 14: questioning religion

Chapters 15-20: becoming a hunter

Chapter 21: given a mission

Chapters 22-26: doing what must be done

A/N: And now we'll jump right in with the chapter guide and deleted scenes! (if you're feeling impatient, scroll down and only read the best deleted scenes: the one deleted from Chapter 11 and the one deleted from Chapter 19.) Originally, I thought I wanted to start the story _before_ D's mom died. I changed my mind because I didn't feel up to the task of writing D's mom as a convincing character.

_Alternate Chapter 1: Stories_

_Transylvania, circa 1800_

The child stared up at his mother, his stormy eyes seeming out of place in his adorable little face.

"Is that true?" he asked in a tiny, reverent voice, and it was obvious that to him, the answer was of utmost significance.

The old woman laughed, happy lines crinkling her pale skin. "but of course it is, my darling," she said. "Only the _true_ stories last so long."

"Am I… interrupting?" the cold voice from the doorway was rich and regal. The woman and her child looked up expectantly at the tall, broad-shouldered figure that entered the room.

"Not at all," the woman said kindly. "I was just telling D a bedtime story."

"About a big boat, for all the animals in the world," the boy supplied.

"_That_ story?" his father asked. "I'm surprised. I would have thought that one was far too… frightening."

"_Frightening?_" The woman laughed. "Noah and the ark? The dove with the olive branch? The very first rainbow? How could _that_ frighten our brave little boy?"

Dracula's eyes gleamed like red glass. "If you were… _not_ in the big boat… and you saw with your own eyes, the creatures _drowning_ all around you, thrashing in the water, men and women screaming, pushing their children onto the rooftops, as the heavens spilled forth that inescapable punishment… it would be frightening. And, don't forget the curse that went along with that precious rainbow. _Whosoever takes human blood_--"

"--Should not tell bedtime stories," the woman declared. D frowned at his father, as his mother hugged him closer and smoothed his hair reassuringly. "_Really_, dear," the woman admonished. "Must you speak like that in front of D? I swear, _You're_ the only frightening thing around here!"

Dracula smiled and picked up the book he'd been looking for. "Quite right," he agreed, and vanished.

The old woman sighed and tucked her son into bed. The child had a heartbreakingly solemn expression on his face. He turned his deep blue eyes to meet his mother's. "I don't like father's stories," the boy admitted.

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_Chapt 1: Visitors_

_D is a little boy (of comparable maturity to an 8 or 9 yr-old human) when Jonathan Harker visits the castle. D finds Harker's shaving mirror (which Dracula finds later and breaks), and later runs off into woods to visit Mrs. Belus and her daughter Tasia._

_Chapt. 2: Gifts_

_It is Tasia's birthday, and she wants a kiss from D. On his way home, D is followed by his father's wolves, and in an angry outburst he accidentally discovers that he has the dark gift: he can project a sort of destructive energy. Later, D is present when the three beautiful female vampires want to 'kiss' Jonathan Harker. D realizes that he hates his father (for giving a human child to those three)._

A/N: And now, a disturbing scene cut from the end of Chapter 2… once again, D is present as the events of Bram Stoker's _Dracula_ unfold. Actually these particular events are THE most chilling in the entire book, in my opinion. Ultimately I decided to leave this whole part out because, A) no matter what ol' Bram says, it's totally uncool for Dracula to be eating children, and B) it was simply too awful, too graphic a scene, and I didn't want to traumatize poor little D just yet…

_Deleted from Chapter 2_

_Transylvania, 1896_

A month passed, and D knew that the human man was a prisoner in the castle. D often thought about trying to help the poor man escape, but simply could not think of a good enough plan. What made it worse was his father's peculiar behavior. Ever since the night that the Vampire King had given a human child as a gift to his two daughters and Aloisia, he had been extremely temperamental and downright dangerous to be around. D had avoided his father at all costs, fearing that something horrible was about to happen.

And then one night it did. D had finally worked up the courage to face his father. He was going to ask, politely, that the human man be allowed to go back home to his foreign country. Without that distracting presence in the castle, surely D's father would settle down, and things would return to normal…

The door to his father's room was open. D slipped inside, intending to wait there until his father returned. He didn't wait long. Dracula appeared in the room, once again carrying a large sack over his shoulder. D's eyes widened as he realized what that must mean- another human child, brought here to be slaughtered-- and a voice in his young heart told him that this was the time to be brave.

"Father!" he called out. Dracula whipped his head around to glare at his son, his expression crazed and wicked, eyes burning and fangs bared wolfishly.

"_Why are you here?_" Dracula roared, barely able to form the words properly around the aching teeth in his mouth. D had never seen his father this way before. He was like a savage, sick animal… D was terrified, and began to back away.

"Father, what's wrong with you?" D cried, his voice shaking.

"_I must drink,_" Dracula snarled.

"No!" D cried out. "You promised! You promised you wouldn't drink anymore blood!"

"_That promise served its purpose! And now I MUST be free of it!_" The deranged creature tore the heavy sack apart, revealing a boy much smaller than D, a human boy with wide eyes and red, tear-stained cheeks, who was doing his best to scream through the gag in his mouth. D realized then that his father really was going to kill the crying child, and D felt like screaming too- but suddenly he couldn't make a sound, and all his courage left him- trembling and gasping for breath, he turned to flee from the horrible scene—

"_You will stay!_" Dracula commanded, and D found himself held firmly in place. "_Watch!_" his father ordered, and D was physically forced to obey. Unable to look away, D watched as the vampire lifted the terrified child into his arms. He heard the single sharp wail as the gag finally came loose. It was the very same cry that would haunt Jonathan Harker's nightmares for the rest of his life. As soon as the awful sound left the child's lips, it was cut off, as the boy's fragile throat collapsed between the vampire's jaws. D watched the small body spasm, the little arms and legs flailing wildly for an instant, just an instant, before falling limp. It was seared into D's mind- the helpless little body, and the vampire –his father!– grotesquely connected to its throat, drinking, gulping, sucking out the sweet red life.

Though it was over in an instant, it had seemed like an eternity. The little human boy was dead, with his tears still wet on his face. The vampire lifted his head. D couldn't move his eyes away from the child's neck. It looked as though a steel trap had sprung shut on it. It was… torn open… the skin… ruptured, ripped apart… surely no ravenous wolf, no gnashing tiger, no natural carnivore, could have torn that soft neck open more viciously.

"Put him down," D cried out, his voice weak. "Let him go- put him down!"

"He's dead," Dracula said simply, turning away from his son, the small limp body still in his arms.

"Just… leave him alone!" D insisted, his voice a hoarse whisper now. "Put him down! Leave him alone, _leave him alone!_"

Suddenly D was jolted out of his hysterics by the sound of a woman's scream from the courtyard far below. D raced to the balcony to look, and sure enough, just inside the gate there was a woman in peasant's clothes, gasping for breath. She looked up at the castle, and even from all the way up on the balcony, D could see the desperation in her eyes as she cried out- "Monster, give me my child!"

Dracula came to stand beside his son, looking down on the woman as she fell to her knees, screaming. _"Give me my child!"_

"You see?" Dracula said. "History carefully wrought, how quickly it fades! They _have_ forgotten their place, and now I must witness obscene insolence such as this. I have been remiss in my maintenance of their… respect."

The woman stumbled up the stairs, and began beating her fists uselessly against the massive wooden door. Dracula stared down at her for another moment, and finally called out to the wolves, who answered him eagerly.

A/N: and that's where I ended it. But in case you are curious, here's what Jonathan Harker reports about what happened next: (taken straight from _Dracula_ chapter 4.)

"…Before many minutes had passed a pack of them poured, like a pent-up dam when liberated, through the wide entrance into the courtyard.

There was no cry from the woman, and the howling of the wolves was but short. Before long they streamed away singly, licking their lips.

I could not pity her, for I knew now what had become of her child, and she was better dead."

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A/N: the next deleted scene is from chapter 8, scroll down if you don't want to bother with the chapter summaries…

_Chapt. 3: Proof & Justice_

_Dracula has been stealing and killing children, and the local humans finally find out about D and ambush him at the Belus's cottage. D's teeth are the 'proof' that he's a vampire, and the people want to do 'justice' by killing him, but they don't cut his head off all the way…_

_Chapt. 4: Close enough_

_D heals, and discovers that a nameless demon, (who had been trapped in an enchanted arrow) is now lodged in his left hand. The very talkative hand identifies D as a dhampir, but tells him that he's 'close enough' to human to be able to choose between good and evil. _

_Chapt. 5: Plans_

_Now D is a lanky young teenager, comparable to a 13 or 14 yr-old human. Dracula wants to have a strategy meeting for a hundred nobles, and puts D in charge of renovating the castle. D meets the now-grown-up Tasia and her young children, Samantha and Geoffrey._

_Chapt. 6: The Celebration_

_D is welcomed by Tasia's family, and enjoys spending time with them. But Dracula tells him that he's too old now to act like a human, and he must now become a full vampire. At the gathering with the hundred nobles, Dracula tries to force D to drink the life out of a human, who happens to be… Tasia!_

_Chapt. 7: Darkness_

_Using that mysterious dark power, D resists his father and attempts to rescue Tasia, but ends up unconscious. Dracula swears to protect Tasia's family in exchange for her life, and bites her-- and when D wakes up it's too late for her. Dracula arranges it so that the hundred nobles think it was D who killed her, and then D runs away. _

_Alternate Chapter 8: Lost and Found_

_Transylvania, 1914_

"Stop being so stubborn!" the demon in D's hand scolded. "You've got to eat."

"I don't want to," D murmured, his voice flat.

"At least drink some water!"

"I don't want to."

"So you're saying you want to die? What about those children?"

Silence filled the woods where the dhampir slouched weakly against a tree. His horse grazed nearby. He had been riding for four days. Each time he stopped to let the horse rest, his motivation to keep going decreased. The voice from his hand kept up an incessant, obnoxious commentary the entire time, sometimes berating and insulting him, sometimes faking sympathy, anything to illicit a response. But D wasn't in the mood to argue.

"I swore to myself I would protect them," D said quietly. "But maybe the best way I can do that is to stay away from them forever."

"Look, we've been over this before. You're feeling guilty about Tasia's death. Who wouldn't? But ultimately, it's not your fault."

"It's my fault."

"You're impossible! Will you please come to your senses? You could do a lot of good for those kids- for the whole world really!"

"What good can I do."

"Think about it, D. You've got amazing abilities. You've got intelligence, strength, that dark magic energy stuff, and let's not forget _me_."

D didn't reply. He stared straight ahead. He was slipping off.

"Help!" his hand shouted as loudly as it could. "HELP!"

"Do you hear that?" the boy asked his brother. The taller boy frowned and stopped his horse. The two brothers sat silently for a minute. "There it is again. Someone's calling for help."

They listened as the cry repeated.

"That's far off," Timothy said, already tugging his horse around. "There's nothing that way but wilderness, most likely a traveler got lost in the night. Let's go see if we can find him." Aaron nodded and together they rode in the direction of the sound. They had gone nearly a mile when the calls for help suddenly stopped. They rode on warily.

"Look! A horse!" Aaron said, pointing ahead. The black horse watched them approach, and when it decided that they weren't a threat, it returned to grazing. Timothy dismounted and walked over to the animal, talking to it softly. The horse showed no signs of fear and let the taller brother pat its neck and shoulder as it fed.

"Saddle marks," he noticed. "But where's the saddle?"

"And where's the rider?" Aaron asked.

Timothy and Aaron looked around the woods carefully. Timothy squinted at a strange shape at the base of a tree. It could have been just a shadow. "Over there," he said. As they approached they realized that they had found the lost traveler. They broke into a run. "Are you alright?" Timothy called.

"Water," gasped a wheezy voice. Aaron knelt beside the young man on the ground and tipped his waterskin to his mouth. The lost traveler opened his eyes slightly but closed them again without seeming to recognize where he was. Aaron immediately gave him another sip of water.

"Poor fellow, he's nearly done himself in. Look, there's his saddle, and it's a nice one- but no saddlebags or water or anything! He can't be any older than you, Tim, and he's more than two day's ride from the nearest farm, out here alone—I wonder what could've happened to him!"

"He's in a bad way," Timothy said, "But he'll live. We should camp here for the night and look after him. It's nearly sundown anyway. We'll make up for lost time tomorrow."

Aaron nodded and poured a little more water into the stranger's mouth. D swallowed it and opened his eyes again. "Thank you," he muttered.

"Don't mention it, old chap," Aaron said kindly.

Timothy frowned. "That's strange," he said.

"What?"

"His voice- wasn't it a bit eerie?"

"I suppose if a chap's nearly died, he's allowed a bit of an eerie voice, Tim."

"No, I mean… I'm sure that's not the voice we heard calling for help."

Aaron looked around. "You suppose there's someone else lost out here?"

The forest was silent.

"…No," Timothy said after a minute. "It must have been him."

D woke up to the smell of blood. A tall boy was skinning a rabbit nearby, while a slightly younger boy was feeding small sticks to a newborn fire. The evening was cool and damp. D saw that they had caught and tethered his horse for him, and now it grazed calmly with two other horses. His eyes rested on the younger boy. He was 13 or 14 years old, with shaggy brown hair and a round, childish face. Feeling D's cool gaze, Aaron looked up. "Hello," he said. "There's water next to you. How're you feeling?"

"Hungry," D admitted before he could stop himself. The odor of the dead rabbit was suffocating him. He reached for the waterskin and drank deeply.

The tall boy grinned, holding up the carcass. "We'll eat supper soon. I'm Tim, and this is my brother Aaron. You're pretty lucky we found you."

"You'd be a goner by now if we hadn't. What happened to you anyway?" Aaron asked.

D hesitated, then took a quiet breath. "Four days ago, a friend of mine died. …I guess I was trying to run away from my grief."

Timothy nodded solemnly. "Didn't work, did it?" he asked in a low voice.

"No," D said.

Timothy put the rabbit on a spit and Aaron balanced it over the fire. The three of them sat quietly for a while watching the flames.

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A/N: I deleted that scene because I decided that D shouldn't need 'help' deciding to go back to Tasia's family, and I didn't want the story to get overly cluttered with new characters. But I was still reluctant to get rid of it, because I liked the idea of D being rescued by two teenaged boys (who are about the same 'age' as D himself at this point), and the three of them having a heart-to-heart, camping out in the woods.

_Chapt. 8: Madness_

_D goes back to Tasia's family, and learns that his father has already sent his condolences for Tasia's death. The situation made Tasia's husband lose his mind, and he rants to D about the 'madness' of being human. D helps Tasia's family move to England._

_Chapt. 9: Fortune of War_

_It's WWI, and D is caught in the first poison gas attack- which is when he discovers that the demon in his hand can do a nifty trick. Later, D fights at Verdun, but realizes that he's not interesting in killing the enemy. His father sends him a message and forces him to leave the war behind and go claim his 'inheritance'._

A/N: The next scene is an example of one of the many scenes left out of the WWI chapter… and no, I won't subject you all of them. Some lines from the paragraph at the end made it into the final draft, actually, so it'll probably sound familiar.

_Deleted from Chapter 9_

_Ypres, Belgium, 1915_

Flat on his back on a dusty wooden pallet, covered by a muddy woolen blanket, D wished he could sleep but knew it was hopeless. The man next to him had been coughing violently all week and from the sound of it now, he wouldn't live through the night. With a faint sigh, D sat up and studied the dying man. His skin was rotting in several places. D couldn't ignore the stench. It seemed to be everywhere- the odor of decay, mold, urine… it was inescapable. It was a marvel that all the men weren't dying from it as this one seemed to be. The sick man looked up at D with lucid eyes, and reached towards him feebly with one hand. D took his hand gently, having no need to fear disease or infection. "What's your name?" he asked softly.

"James Cooper," the dying man wheezed. D couldn't think of anything else to say. James Cooper closed his eyes, his cough raspier than ever. D sat with him all night. Just before dawn, he finally stopped coughing, and D heard the last beat of his heart. In the silence that followed, D felt numb. He had seen a lot of dead people over the past few months. Slowly D got up and went to find the sergeant.

"Excuse me, sergeant," D asked, finding the gruff old man at last.

"What is it, son?" the grey-haired sergeant asked, squinting at D tiredly.

"Another man died in his sleep last night, sergeant."

"What do you want me to do about it?" the sergeant asked gruffly. D said nothing. The old soldier tried not to take any special notice of the young draftees, but he couldn't help but notice this one. He'd been watching the tall, pale young man from the moment he'd marched in carrying more gear than a mule. The sergeant frowned. "Alright, let's bury the poor bloke."

The buried him right into the wall of the trench.

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_Chapt. 10: Departures_

_Samantha overhears D telling her grandmother that his father is the 'King of the Vampires' who killed Tasia. Mrs. Belus dies, and Samantha asks D what happened to her parents, but he won't say. Later that year, Samantha disappears, and D promises to find her._

A/N: The next deleted scene is a family moment back in England soon after the war.

_Deleted from Chapter 10_

_York, England, 1919_

"Won't you stay another week?" Mrs. Belus asked for the third time that morning. D put down his coffee so gently that the cup didn't even clink against the saucer. He seemed to be staring at something invisible in the middle of the table. Mrs. Belus interpreted this to mean that he was debating her offer. She wiped her hands on her apron and drew a hopeful breath. "It would do such wonders for the children, after all."

D shook his head slightly. "I have imposed upon you too long already," he said tonelessly.

"Nonsense! Lord have mercy. After all you've done for us…"

"I should be on my way," D said uncomfortably, standing up. He didn't want to get into an argument that would inevitably call up painful memories.

"Are you leaving?" piped a young voice from the doorway. It was Geoffrey, still in his nightdress, his round brown eyes shining with worry.

"Yes," D said quietly, and the boy's brow furrowed in disapproval.

"Why?" the 8-year-old asked.

Mrs. Belus decided to save D from explaining himself. "Mr. D has to manage his business affairs," she said kindly. "But I'm sure he'll come again soon, won't you, dear?"

D nodded solemnly.

"Come back as soon as you can," the boy instructed eagerly.

"I will," D said, with the slightest of smiles. With a final nod of thanks to Mrs. Belus, he took his leave of the kitchen and headed for the stables.

"Really, I didn't think being rich would make you so _rude_," D's hand grumbled. "They treat you like family. Why can't you just relax and enjoy it?"

"Mrs. Belus is older," D remarked, almost absent-mindedly.

"In case you didn't know, that's how it works with humans," the hand sneered.

"Staying with them for three days, four days… it's too long. I can see them growing and changing around me," D said, staring off at the horizon.

"Is that what bothers you?"

"Yes… especially Samantha." D's voice died to whisper.

"Hmm. She is practically identical to her mother, so I guess seeing her makes you regretful? Nostalgic, perhaps?"

"I just feel out of place," D said, and left it at that.

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_Chapt. 11: la nuit de Paris_

_D tracks Samantha to Paris, where he finds vampires living amongst the humans. D meets a young vampire named Brassai, who says he can help D find the girl. Sure enough, he finds her in a shady bordello, where she is ill with a fever. D rescues her and takes her back to England._

A/N: oh, THIS scene! From the Paris chapter. I confess, I love this next deleted scene. But it didn't belong in this story. Oh man, you should see the heaps of scribbles and scratched-out lines that finally produced Chapter 11. I swear, if there ever was a 'real' vampire, it was that Brassai guy. If you haven't checked out his photography yet, I have two words for you: Google. Search!

_Deleted from Chapter 11_

_Paris, France, 1925_

D stopped. The vampire moved past him silently, and D knew that within moments he would be lost in the crowd. D turned.

"Wait," he commanded gruffly. The vampire stopped as though frozen, and then gracefully turned one shoulder to D, and tilted his head toward the dhampir, studying him with measured fascination, as though he were a painting on display in a gallery. They way he held himself so utterly still in such an elegant pose made people take a second glance as they passed by. D realized that they were attracting attention and it frustrated him.

"Get out of this city," D said tersely. The vampire stared at him with eyes like cold wine. Bristling, D spun on his heel and hurried on into the night.

D froze as he became aware of an evil aura somewhere below him- most likely in the lobby. A vampire- two of them- three- four- and now they were heading up the stairs. D knew they were coming for him. He looked desperately around the room. He knew he could jump out the window if he had to, although he was loathe to do so in front of the people who would inevitably be passing by on the street below. There was a chair he could easily break apart for makeshift wooden stakes…

"Oh, lovely," D's hand grumbled, sensing what was going on. "That chap you were so cordial to in the avenue last week is probably their ringleader. Nice move, D, getting on us such good terms with the locals right away."

"Shut up!" D hissed. The vampires were on his floor now, at the end of the hall. And then, before D could think of what to do, they were right outside his door.

There was a polite knock.

If ever D felt inclined to sweat, it was now. "Yes?" he asked softly, hoping his voice communicated confidence that he did not feel.

"Ah," came a voice through the door. "May we come in?"

D moved fluidly across the room, and, hardly believing it at he did so, he opened the door.

Four vampires stood expectantly in the hall, staring at him in cool curiosity, all of them as still as stone. Two were male and two female. All four were dressed fashionably, all in black. D realized in secret disgrace that he was also fashionably dressed all in black. He resolved on the spot to buy something in blue as soon as possible.

"Yes," D repeated quietly, averting his eyes lest any of them notice that they were not red. He stepped aside as the four of them filed into the room. They stood perfectly spaced from each other in a semi-circle, which would have been extraordinarily unnatural for humans, D noted with disgust.

"We'd like to welcome you to Paris," one of the females murmured huskily.

"We've been watching you every night since you arrived," one of the males added. D felt a twinge of annoyance. "And you have demonstrated to our satisfaction that you will not endanger our society."

"Society?" D repeated.

"Yes. You must join us and obey our rules, if you wish to remain in our city," said the other female in a musical voice.

"I have no wish to remain in this city," D said sincerely. All four vampires were silent.

"Then why have you come?" asked the husky-voiced female.

"I'm looking for a human girl," D said gruffly, unsure of why he saw fit to divulge that information to the vampire quartet.

A spark of interest gleamed in all eight red eyes. "A certain one?" the other male asked.

"Yes, a certain one," D said impatiently.

"Will you leave once you've found her?" asked the female with the musical voice.

"Immediately," D promised.

"We shall help you find her," the first male vampire declared regally.

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_Chapt. 12: Warmth_

_Samantha recovers and (inevitably) falls in love with D. D is having some trouble with the sunlight, and his hand tells him he needs to take care of his vampire side by avoiding daylight, drinking blood, or burying himself in the earth. D picks the last option, and afterwards he is able to recognize and appreciate Samantha's feelings for him…_

_Chapt. 13: Truth_

_Our hero is about the same 'age' as a 16-yr-old human at this point. Samantha tries to seduce him, and finally D tells her the truth. She gets angry and asks him to prove it. D gives in and wants to bite her- but a powerful charm (that Dracula put on Samantha when he promised to protect Tasia's family) stops him, and once again he runs away._

A/N: Aurgh! The Samantha chapters… frustration to no end! But we all survived, didn't we? For the record, D had some typical teenager feelings of attraction towards her, but did NOT fall in love with her. I hope that was clear. Here's one scene from Chapter 13 that had to be rewritten. This version was just too… nice. Sigh! I'm a waf-lover after all.

_Deleted from Chapter 13_

_York, England, 1926_

"There's no point in hiding the truth from you any longer," he said, looking out at the moon. "I'll tell you everything."

By the time he finished his incredible story, she'd been exhausted of her fear, and her head rested comfortably against his shoulder. She had listened silently throughout, showing not the least bit of disbelief.

"You're really _a hundred and sixty_ years old?" she asked at last. D nodded.

"That's so sad," she whispered. "To live so long, and yet not _really_ live…"

"My life is a pseudo-existence," D told her. He focused on his reflection in the windowpane. "Look at me in the glass," he said softly. She did so, and her eyes widened in surprise. His reflection was that of a semi-transparent being- the furniture of the room behind him was dimly visible _through_ him. "Vampires have no reflection at all," he said.

"But why?" Samantha asked.

"I don't think anyone knows."

They stood in silence for another moment. Finally D sighed. "Well, I guess I'll take you to bed," he said, turning away from the window.

She giggled slightly and D blushed. "I meant I'll take you to _your_ bed," he corrected, "where you shall sleep by yourself."

"Wait," she said, and D stopped. "I don't understand why you must deny yourself _everything_," she said.

"You aren't afraid of what I am?" D asked quietly.

"Knowing the life of sorrow you've led…I want to love you more than before," she answered. D considered that for a moment, and then shook his head.

"You deserve someone who can love you back," he said at last.

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_Chapt. 14: Seek and ye shall find_

_D feels guilty about being tempted to drink blood, so he excludes himself from human society and tries to figure out exactly what the connection is between vampires and Christianity. A priest tells him to go to Naumburg cathedral, where he meets a suicidal vampire (who is practically obsessed with religion) named Aldrich Raban…_

_Chapt. 15: The tide will turn_

_Aldrich Raban is the second-oldest vampire in the world and considers Dracula his brother. He explains to D what the future will be like: vampires will take over for a while, but are doomed to die out eventually. He asks if D has a purpose for existing, and suggests that he should become a vampire hunter. _

_Chapt. 16: Winging it_

_Vampire hunter training. Aldrich takes D to a small Polish village where all the people have been massacred by low-class vampires… and D isn't able to kill any of them. Aldrich reviews the basics of how to kill vampires, and teaches D how to heal himself faster. _

A/N: ok, here's a brief scene with Aldrich… he's so cool!

_Deleted from Chapter 16_

_Poland, 1940_

Several minutes later four vampires came out of the chapel. Aldrich locked his eyes on one of them and with the sound of metal scraping metal he slowly unsheathed his sword. The vampires halted, sneering at him, baring their still-bloody fangs.

"Look, another fool," snarled the first. "What do you want?"

"To kill you," Aldrich replied good-naturedly.

"Ha! We'll make short work of you too!"

Aldrich held his sword in his left hand and held up his right index finger. He squinted and with a quick movement he traced a cross in the air. Two slashes ripped open across the vampire's forehead in the shape of a cross. Blood began to pour out, sizzling as the flesh burned at the edges of the wound. The vampire shrieked and fell to his knees, scrabbling uselessly at the bleeding, burning wound. The other three looked momentarily stunned. Then all three charged Aldrich. He rolled his eyes, and then with one swing, he decapitated all three of them. Their bodies hit the ground and exploded into dust. Aldrich whirled his sword around, and approached the final vampire, who was still screeching and clawing at its bloody face.

"I'm just sorry I haven't time to give you the death you deserve," Aldrich said evenly. Not even looking at his victim, he drew a silver line in the air with his sword, disconnecting the weaker vampire's head from its body. Both head and body burst into dust a second later. Aldrich sheathed his weapon and brushed some dust off his sleeve.

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_Chapt. 17: Aldrich_

_Aldrich tells D a story from his past, about a time that he was rescued by a little girl. Aldrich ended up killing her-- the moral of the story being 'don't show pity or mercy to a vampire.' But D sees it differently. (in the books and movies, D spares a vampire occasionally, and clearly has a soft spot for any human who pities a vampire.)_

A/N: Now here are a couple of lines that probably should not have been deleted from the end of chapt. 17…

_Deleted from Chapter 17_

_Ninth-century Bavaria (Germany)…_

They should have…Forgiven him? Such a preposterous thought had never occurred to the creature. To be forgiven… for what he _was_… that wasn't possible. That wasn't what forgiveness was for, that wasn't how it worked! He wasn't human, he wasn't _supposed_ to be human… and he _wasn't_ supposed to be 'forgiven' for that.

At last the yellow-haired child stepped back. "Aldrich, because of them nails, you are really stuck there," she said astutely. "I don't think I can get you free."

"That's all right," Raban said brokenly, not believing what he was about to say. "Perhaps it's better if I stay like this."

…_and Naumburg, Germany, 1942_

Aldrich was stunned. Why _had _he kept the name given him by the child? Was it because he wanted to remember a little girl who mistakenly thought that he was entitled to forgiveness? Or was it because, secretly… impossibly… absurdly… he wanted _to be forgiven?_

He shook his head in amazement at the young dhampir's insightfulness. D seemed to _like _the idea of a human pitying a vampire… Aldrich simply could not understand it.

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_Chapt. 18: In Control _

_Aldrich tells D to kill him, but then beats D in a fight and realizes that he has to teach D what it's like to be bitten by a vampire. D finally discovers that he can control the dark power of his birthright. D's training is complete, and Aldrich finally kills himself. _

_Chapt. 19: Slings and Arrows_

_D rides away from Naumburg, pondering how much the world has changed and wondering how he'll be able to adapt to it. Suddenly he's shot and captured by a human vampire hunter named Hesselius… who was hired by Samantha. _

A/N: Originally, when D got captured by Hesselius, I had him wake up in the back of a truck, rather than in an underground bunker. In that draft of the chapter, Hess had an assistant, and I used her to address something that I kept meaning to get around to in this story: the confusion over the correct pronunciation and spelling of the word "dhampir".

_Deleted from Chapter 19_

_Germany, 1945_

D awoke to the jolting motion of a truck over uneven terrain, and the pungent smell of cigarette smoke. He wasn't surprised to find that he was trapped in a steel cage-- but he _was_ surprised to find himself guarded by a beautiful woman. She had cascades of styled coffee-bean-brown hair and eyes like pools of sepia ink, which were gazing straight into D's own. Lazily she blew cigarette smoke in his direction before turning her head towards the front of the truck.

"Hey Hess?" she called. "Your vampire's awake."

"Splendid," replied a cheerful voice from the driver's seat, which was well out of D's line of sight. "See how he's feeling, will you?"

"How're you feeling?" the woman asked D, bringing the cigarette to her lips.

D was at a loss. "I'm… fine," he said.

"Says he's fine," the woman reported in a loud, bored voice. "Want me to get started on the paperwork?"

"Yes, thank you, that would be wonderful," the driver replied.

D watched, dumbfounded, as the woman took a clipboard and a stack of papers out of a large leather purse. For a few minutes she scribbled down dates and figures and checked boxes on various typewritten forms. Finally she flipped to a new page, and looked up at D.

"Date of birth?" she asked in that same bored tone.

D tried to come up with a good reason to be uncooperative or dishonest, but couldn't think of any. He blinked once or twice.

"December first, 1764," he answered softly.

"Home of record?"

"…Romania," D replied.

"Mother's maiden name?"

"…I don't know," he admitted.

The woman sighed, releasing a cloud of cigarette smoke. "Hess?" she called. "He don't know his mother's maiden name. Can I skip that block?"

"Was he born before 1800?"

"Yeah,"

"You can skip it then," said the driver, who was apparently named 'Hess'. The woman returned to her work for a few more minutes, and then picked up something that looked like a large flashlight. She pointed it at D.

"Close your eyes," she instructed. "This'll sting a little."

Still not fully confident that he knew what was going on, D obeyed, and for a brief instant he felt a warm light on his face. He heard the woman click the flashlight off. "Huh," she said, and turned the light on again. "Hey Hess, I think your light's broke," she called to the front seat. "He ain't even flinching."

"Just mark that down as a zero," the man's voice replied. "It's because he _isn't_ a vampire."

"Could've fooled me," the woman said, looking at D again. "So just what the hell is he?"

"He's a half-breed. A dhampir," Hess explained.

"Danpeer?" the woman repeated, and from her tone it was clear that she'd never heard of such a thing. "Well, shit, I guess I better make a note on all these forms." She flipped to the first page and looked up at D. "Just how do you spell that, Danpeer?"

"It's _dhampir_," D corrected with precisely the right inflection- and immediately he wondered if he had sounded snobbish.

Obviously, he had. The woman narrowed her eyes and very slowly blew cigarette smoke out through her pursed lips. "Look, I'm from Chicago," the woman said, her tone flat. "And I don't need none of your French lessons. It could be 'damn-queer' for all I care, I just want to know how you spell it."

Taken aback, D spelled it out for her. It _was_ a rather unusual word, and there was no reason why D should care how people pronounced it. Quietly he decided not to correct anyone on that point ever again.

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A/N: …and so that's my explanation of why, ten thousand years from now, people are calling D a 'dunpeal' and D just goes along with it. Ok, one more deleted scene.

_Chapt. 20: Blood and lust_

_Lefty convinces D to use the taste of his own blood to augment his strength so that he doesn't stay locked up as Hesselius's prisoner. It works, and D decides to let Hess take him back to England, but they wind up in Naples, where D reaffirms his conclusion that he won't ever fall in love with a human. (had to throw that in. Poor D!)_

_Deleted from Chapter 20_

_Naples, Italy, 1945_

Hess grabbed D by the sleeve and dragged him into the bar, which was smoky and loud and packed with soldiers. The men were laughing, and of course, drinking- all of them full of the enthusiastic, guilty joy that comes from being alive when you know of so many others who are not. The war was over, and these soldiers were celebrating their survival.

"I'll get us a drink!" Hesselius hollered above the racket, and ducked away into the crowd. D made his way towards the wall, where tall-backed booths housed the less rowdy revelers. Suddenly he felt someone's eyes on him, and looked over to see a drunken middle-aged man staring at him, wide-eyed and slack-jawed in shocked recognition. The man downed the last of his beer and practically came running at him.

"It's you!" the drunken man exclaimed, grabbing D by the arms. Before D could think of anything to say, the drunken man laughed and shook his head. "No, no, of course not, sorry about that. Gave me a right good scare, that you did, that you did!" he laughed and pulled D into a sloppy hug. "You're the spittin' image of your old man!"

D found himself instinctively taking a step back. "You know my father?" he asked quietly, holding the drunkard at arm's length and cautiously searching his watery eyes.

"Know your father?" the man repeated, laughing. "I owe my bloody life to 'im! Why, it's been nigh thirty years but I'll never forget. Saved my life at Verdun, he did!"

"oh," D said, taken aback. Verdun— the word kindled his memory, and his eyes softened as he recalled the scared, skinny teenager that this man had been, in the darkest hours of that previous war…

"Bet you never knew your dad was a regular hero back then," the man went on. "Bet he never talked about none of that with you or nobody else, neither. Quietest guy I ever met! Often wondered if he made it through. From the look of you, I guess he did after all!" He clapped D firmly on the shoulder. "Here, let me buy you a drink!"

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A/N: that was a "must happen" scene and there'd already been a lot of those, so I ended up taking it out… and that does it for deleted scenes! Here's the rest of the chapter summaries:

_Chapt. 21: The Challenge_

_After nearly 20 years, D meets Samantha again. She tells him that he did the right thing by running away, and says she wants him to go and kill his father. D accepts the mission. (Sam's conclusion that everything is Dracula's fault is echoed by D ten thousand years later in book 2)_

_Chapt. 22: Memory_

_A year later, D is on his way home, with Hess tagging along. Hess reads to D from Bram Stoker's book, even though D says he already "knows the story." Dracula dreams of the day D's mother died, and wakes to find that his son is coming home…_

_Chapt. 23: Beautiful monsters_

_On their way to the castle, D and Hess are chased first by wolves and then by monstrous flesh-eating horses. They make it to the castle, where the three beautiful female vampires meet them. Hess decides to distract them while D goes ahead. _

_Chapt. 24: Destiny_

_Lefty makes a last-minute effort to consume the four empedoclean elements (fire earth air water) in order to be able to help D if worse comes to worst. But there isn't any water around. At last D finds his father in his underground sanctuary. Dracula reveals his scheme for the future, and evades D's first attacks._

_Chapt. 25: A Battle fought_

_His sanctuary destroyed, the Vampire King fights his son under a stormy night sky. D is severely wounded, and Dracula decides to turn him into a full vampire. But once D loses consciousness, Dracula changes his mind, and actually kills D. But then the rain falls- and Lefty is able to bring D back to life. D stabs his father through the heart and Dracula vanishes._

_Chapt. 26: A Promise kept_

_D learns that he is now the master of the castle in his father's place. He finds Hess on the verge of becoming a vampire, and 'does his job' by ending Hess's life. Later, D makes his way to the Belus's cottage to visit Tasia's tomb, since he promised Mrs. Belus that he would. D has found his purpose. He will always be a vampire hunter, until his mission is complete…_

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A/N: Some final notes from chapters 24-26. In case you haven't read them, I figure it's only fair to tell you what ideas I borrowed from the books. First of all, about Dracula- at the beginning of this story he appears old, with white hair. That's straight from Bram Stoker, of course: Dracula regains his youth when he drinks blood. By the end of this story, he's looking as young as D. Also straight from Bram is the fact that Dracula _can_ walk in the sunlight. Lefty's ability to generate life-force by 'eating' the four elements is from the VHD books (and the first movie, although I didn't understand that scene until I read the books). Dracula's little spiel in chapt. 24 about the future and wanting to explore the possibilities of vampire genetics through the use of science… that's all inspired by the second book. Also, when Dracula tells D to learn to throw faster, that's a reference to a skill D demonstrates in the books. Likewise, Dracula's deadly trick with the lightning (using his body to channel the electricity): D learns how to do that, and that's one of my favorite little moments in the fourth book. When D gets back to the castle and his clothes 'heal'… um… I guess that's from watching Meier's clothes heal in Bloodlust. I figure that's a talent reserved for vampires, but now that D's the master of Dracula's castle, it applies to him too. But only in the castle. Let's see… what else… Vivaldi and Mussorgsky are my second and third favorite composers, behind Dvorak.

And now, finally, I would like to dedicate this story….

I got a postcard in the mail this week, from Düsseldorf. I immediately recognized the scrawly cursive on the back. The postcard reads like this: "Düsseldorf has been a nice place to visit. 5 days of walks along the Rhein to/from Alstadt. Drove to Köln—magnificent 2 spire cathedral dating from 1200s. Took 600 years to build. German food was highlight- I'll cook for you someday I hope. –DAD"

Why he was in Düsseldorf I have no idea, but my dad is the coolest person ever!

And so, I would like to dedicate this story to my Dad, for being my hero, reading me very old fairytales when I was small, and for inspiring my love of castles, cathedrals, history, legends, and most importantly, _stories_.

Thanks to everybody who reviewed! Blue skies and tailwinds to all of you!


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